How does one hate a country, or love one? Tibe talks about it; I lack the trick of it. I know people, I know towns, farms, hills and rivers and rocks, I know how the sun at sunset in autumn falls on the side of a certain plowland in the hills; but what is the sense of giving a boundary to all that, of giving it a name and ceasing to love where the name ceases to apply? What is love of one's country; is it hate of one's uncountry? Then it's not a good thing. Is it simply self-love? That's a good thing, but one mustn't make a virtue of it, or a profession... Insofar as I love life, I love the hills of the Domain of Estre, but that sort of love does not have a boundary-line of hate. And beyond that, I am ignorant, I hope.

L’animale assomigliava a una lucertola, ma aveva le zampe più lunghe e leggermente palmate. Non erano adatte all’acqua, tutt’altro. L’evoluzione aveva imposto alle piccole creature di Haren dei canoni standard per poter navigare in quella sabbia finissima senza affondare. La lucertola saggiava l’aria torrida con la lingua. Era immobile da due ore, speranzosa che un paio di piccole ali trasparenti gli svolazzassero sotto i denti. La sua attenzione fu attratta da qualcosa nel cielo: un oggetto imponente, faceva rumore, ed era più caldo dell’aria. Nulla che promettesse qualcosa di buono. L’istinto prevalse sulla poca ragione dell’animale, e la strana creatura scattò via mulinando le zampe sulla sabbia.

Вы спрашиваете: Что считаю Я наивысшим счастьем на земле? Две вещи: Менять вот так же состоянье духа, Как пенни выменял бы я на шиллинг....

Share and Enjoy' is the company motto of the hugely successful Sirius Cybernetics Corporation Complaints Division, which now covers the major land masses of three medium-sized planets and is the only part of the Corporation to have shown a consistent profit in recent years. The motto stands-- or rather stood-- in three mile high illuminated letters near the Complaints Department spaceport on Eadrax. Unfortunately its weight was such that shortly after it was erected, the ground beneath the letters caved in and they dropped for nearly half their length through the offices of many talented young Complaints executives-- now deceased.The protruding upper halves of the letters now appear, in the local language, to read "Go stick your head in a pig," and are no longer illuminated, except at times of special celebration.

Oh my God," Mrs. McIntire screamed. She'd dropped to her knees, the dark sand and water soaking into her jeans. "Neely!"Mr. McIntire held his wife while she screeched her daughter's name over and over. "She's going to be fine, sweetie," he kept saying.I really wanted to believe him."Is she on the other side?" I paced the shore. I couldn't see anything except a piece of driftwood lying at the water's edge. "I don't see her."Mr. McIntire didn't answer, only pointed across the rolling water.A log had washed up on the shore. It looked like maybe the water had rubbed all the bark off and left a naked, saturated trunk behind."Tell me where she is." Aggravated, I stared until my eyes blurred with stress. "All I see is a damn log.""Son," Sheriff Mills said from behind me. "That ain't a log.

Knowing that a particle can occupy two different states at the same time—a state known as superposition—and, two particles, such as two particles of light, or photons, can become entangled, means that there is a unique, coupled state in which an action, like a measurement, upon one particle immediately causes a correlated change in the other.If there is a better word to describe my relationship with Fanio than entangled, I have yet to hear it. Even when the two entangled particles—or people—are separated by a great distance (and I mean emotional or physical distance, such as mine with Epifanio, or like being at opposite ends of the universe), their movements or actions affect each other. Yet, before any measurements or other assessments occur, the actual "spin states" of either of the two particles are uncertain and even unknowable.

Earlier that day, a typewriter bomb had exploded at a black market skin house over on Eel Street, sending words raining through the cardboard walls of the boudoirs and tattooing copies of the Machinist’s ‘Twelve Terms’ on the bodies of whores and patrons alike. Forty pieces of merch ruined. Their bodies had been obliterated by language, all traces of their sexuality buried beneath a storm of words. There was something horrific about the sight of those who had survived a typewriter attack. Their faces scarred with text, as if they had become hostages to some awful advertisement. A few of the victims took to working the streets around the library where bibliophiles sometimes paid them to satisfy their fantasies amid the desolate hush of the reading rooms and the deserted stacks where the only witnesses to this erotic pantomime of the blank body and its printed partner were other words.

So, like I said, these are a bunch of really sweet guys, but you wouldn't want to share a Galaxy with them, not if they're just gonna keep at it, not if they're not gonna learn to relax a little. I mean it's just gonna be continual nervous time, isn't it, right? Pow, pow, pow, when are they next coming at us? Peaceful coexistence is just right out, right? Get me some water somebody, thank you."He sat back and sipped reflectively.OK," he said, "hear me, hear me. It's, like, these guys, you know, are entitled to their own view of the Universe. And according to their view, which the Universe forced on them, right, they did right. Sounds crazy, but I think you'll agree. They believe in ..."He consulted a piece of paper which he found in the back pocket of his Judicial jeans.They believe in `peace, justice, morality, culture, sport, family life, and the obliteration of all other life forms'.

It is a foible of our human nature that when we have an extremely unpleasant experience, it gives us a peculiar satisfaction if it is “the biggest” of its disagreeable kind that has happened since the world began. During a heat wave, for instance, we are very pleased if the papers announce that it is “the highest temperature reached since the year 1881,” and we feel a little resentment towards the year 1881 for having gone us one better. Or if our ears are frozen till all the skin peels off, it fills us with a certain happiness to learn that “it was the hardest frost recorded since 1786.” It is just the same with wars. The war in progress is either the most righteous or the bloodiest, or the most successful, or the longest, since such and such a time; any superlative whatever always affords us the proud satisfaction of having been through something extraordinary and record-breaking.

Kandinski looked up. 'Do you read science fiction?' he asked matter-of-factly.'Not as a rule,' Ward admitted. When Kandinski said nothing he went on: 'Perhaps I’m too skeptical, but I can’t take it too seriously.'Kandinski pulled at a blister on his palm. 'No one suggests you should. What you mean is that you take it too seriously.'Accepting the rebuke with a smile at himself, Ward pulled out one of the magazines and sat down at a table next to Kandinski. On the cover was a placid suburban setting of snugly eaved houses, yew trees, and children’s bicycles. Spreading slowly across the roof-tops was an enormous pulpy nightmare, blocking out the sun behind it and throwing a weird phosphorescent glow over the roofs and lawns. 'You’re probably right,' Ward said, showing the cover to Kandinski. 'I’d hate to want to take that seriously.'("The Venus Hunters")

Lo sfrigolio delle foglie di una vecchia quercia riempiva il silenzio che galleggiava intorno. L’odore dell’erba saturava le narici fin quasi a inebriare la mente. Il corpo giaceva rilassato alla frescura dell’austero tronco, immerso nell’aria serena della primavera. Karen, sdraiata accanto a lui, si avvicinò al suo orecchio, sorridendogli dolce. «Jonathan, è ora di svegliarsi» sussurrò. «Devi andare al lavoro». L’uomo si destò, aprendo gli occhi nella penombra della stanza metallica. Fece un lungo sospiro, riempiendosi i polmoni di aria stagnante prima di sedersi sul letto e togliersi le cuffie telepatiche che controllavano il sonno. Guardò la moglie distesa accanto a lui, ancora beatamente immersa nel sogno immaginario; aveva programmato la sveglia olografica con le sue fattezze per rendersi più dolce il risveglio in una realtà così diversa.

Ecco: adesso la Luna mi parla. È un volto freddo e luminoso che galleggia là fuori nel buio, e queste sono le sue prime parole, un segnale limpido e sintetico di fredda, incontaminata intelligenza che giunge alla mia consolle attraverso l’etere.«Inizializzazione rete neurale…»Guardo le stelle, nel riquadro della finestra, e quell’algido sorriso di luce che rischiarerà le notti a venire. «Aggiornamento subroutine in corso…»Tutto ciò che desidero… ciò che tutti desideriamo è uno sguardo che ricambi il nostro, là fuori, e una voce che ci risponda.«Avvio del sistema»Ascolto il primo vagito della mia creatura, lassù, sola nel vuoto, e so che presto diverrà un muto dialogo fra macchine, un silenzioso scambio di dati e rilevazioni che non richiederà alcuna supervisione umana.«Verifica periferiche della bioarchitettura Tycho-1 in corso…»

Gaia giveth even as she taketh away.The warming of the global climate over the past century had melted permafrost and glaciers, shifted rainfall patterns, altered animal migratory routes, disrupted agriculture, drowned cities, and similarly necessitated a thousand thousand adjustments, recalibrations and hasty retreats. But humanity's unintentional experiment with the biosphere had also brought some benefits.Now we could grow oysters in New England.Six hundred years ago, oysters flourished as far north as the Hudson. Native Americans had accumulated vast middens of shells on the shores of what would become Manhattan. Then, prior to the industrial age, there was a small climate shift, and oysters vanished from those waters.Now, however, the tasty bivalves were back, their range extending almost to Maine.The commercial beds of the Cape Cod Archipelago produced shellfish as good as any from the heyday of Chesapeake Bay. Several large wikis maintained, regulated and harvested these beds, constituting a large share of the local economy.But as anyone might have predicted, wherever a natural resource existed, sprawling and hard of defense, poachers would be found.

Guardo Edith, ormai avanti negli anni: dopo avermi cercato con gli occhi e trovato ai margini di quel giardino solatio, intento a scrivere sul mio solito quaderno rilegato di pelle lista e scolorita, mi scruta da lontano, lasciando affiorare un sorriso che le increspa appena le labbra. È lì e aspetta, come sempre, seduta nella sua poltrona preferita sotto il portico della candida villa in cui viviamo da vent’anni, immersa nel verde e nei fiori. Vorrei dirle che il problema non è nostro, ma del mondo, che non ama le cose semplici. Il mondo è un caos d’idee complicate che si fanno la guerra fra loro, senza lasciare spazio alla ragionevolezza, e a coloro che si lanciano in fantasticherie idealistiche non offre che buche in cui seppellirle, quando giunge il momento di raccoglierne i pezzi.Adesso che anche l’ultimo grande sogno è finito, un’altra Grande Guerra è alle porte. Se sarà ancora peggiore della precedente, probabilmente sarà l’ultima.(...) Sostando in piedi all’ombra del grande albero, Edith fissa un punto lontano, all’orizzonte, appoggiandosi alla staccionata bianca, e continua a fissarlo fin quasi a farsi lacrimare gli occhi.

They have nothing to give. They have no power of making. All their power is to darken and destroy. They cannot leave this place; they are this place; and it should be left to them. They should not be denied nor forgotten, but neither should they be worshiped. The Earth is beautiful, and bright, and kindly, but that is not all. The Earth is also terrible, and dark, and cruel. The rabbit shrieks dying in the green meadows. The mountains clench their great hands full of hidden fire. There are sharks in the sea, and there is cruelty in men’s eyes. And where men worship these things and abase themselves before them, there evil breeds; there places are made in the world where darkness gathers, places given over wholly to the Ones whom we call Nameless, the ancient and holy Powers of the Earth before the Light, the powers of the dark, of ruin, of madness… I think they drove your priestess Kossil mad a long time ago; I think she has prowled these caverns as she prowls the labyrinth of her own self, and now she cannot see the daylight any more. She tells you that the Nameless Ones are dead; only a lost soul, lost to truth, could believe that. They exist. But they are not your Masters. They never were. You are free, Tenar. You were taught to be a slave, but you have broken free.