Wait,” Foyle commanded. He looked at the beaming grin engraved in the steel robot face. "But society can be so stupid. So confused. You've witnessed this conference.”
"Yes, sir, but you must teach, not dictate. You must teach society.”
"To space-jaunte? Why? Why reach out to the stars and galaxies? What for?”
"Because you're alive, sir. You might as well ask: Why is life? Don't ask about it. Live it.”
"Quite mad,” Dagenham muttered.
"But fascinating,” Y'ang-Yeovil murmured.
"There's got to be more to life than just living,” Foyle said to the robot.
"Then find it for yourself, sir. Don't ask the world to stop moving because you have doubts.”
"Why can't we all move forward together?”
"Because you're all different. You're not lemmings. Some must lead, and hope that the rest will follow.”
"Who leads?”
"The men who must ... driven men, compelled men.”
"Freak men.”
"You're all freaks, sir. But you always have been freaks. Life is a freak. That's its hope and glory.”
"Thank you very much.
Alfred Bester
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We bore round the point toward the old anchoring ground of the hide ships, and there, covering the sand hills and the valleys... flickering all over with the lamps of its streets and houses, lay a city of one hundred thousand inhabitants. The dock into which we drew, and the streets about it, were densely crowded with express wagons and handcarts... Though this crowd I made my way, along the well-built and well-light streets, as alive as by day, where boys in high-keyed voices where already crying the latest New York papers. When I awoke in the morning, and looked from my windows over the city of San Francisco, with its storehouses, towers, and steeples; its courthouses, theaters, and hospitals, its daily journals, its well-filled learned professions, its fortresses and lighthouses; its wharves and harbor... when I saw all these things, and reflected on what I once saw here, and what now surrounded me, I could scarcely keep my hold on reality at all, or the genuineness of anything.
Richard Henry Dana, Jr.
What were they saying?” Daly asked.
"They disapprove of your profession,” Doro told him.
"Heathen savages,” Daly muttered. "They're like animals. They're all cannibals.”
"These aren't,” Doro said, "though some of the their neighbors are.”
"All of them,” Daly insisted. "Just give them the chance.”
Doro smiled. "Well, no doubt the missionaries will reach them eventually and teach them to practice only symbolic cannibalism.”
Daly jumped. He considered himself a pious man in spite of his work. "You shouldn't say such things,” he whispered. "Not even you are beyond the reach of God.”
"Spare me your mythology,” Doro said, "and your righteous indignation.” Daly had been Doro's man too long to be pampered in such matters. "At least we cannibals are honest about what we do,” Doro continued. "We don't pretend as your slavers do to be acting for the benefit of our victims' souls. We don't tell ourselves we've caught them to teach them civilized religion.
Octavia Butler
Not only boxing, but wrestling, quarter-staff, single-stick, bull-baiting, every exercise of the common people, that supposes the possible risk of life or limb, and, of course, that tends to prepare them for deeds of bravery of a higher order, and, by the means of those deeds and of the character and consequence naturally growing out of them, to preserve the independence and the liberties of their country; every such exercise seems to be doomed to extirpation. ... Every thing calculated to keep alive the admiration, and even the idea, of hardihood, seems to have become offensive and odious in the sight of but too many of those, whose duty it is to endeavour to arrest, and not to accelerate, the fatal progress of effeminacy. ... That cuttings and stabbings are more fatal than boxing, to say nothing of the disgrace, every one must agree; and, it cannot be denied, that the former have increased in proportion as the latter has been driven from amongst the people.
William Cobbett