Bethlehem Steele, Buffalo.
“Rearden metal is good.
There is only one reason: you must say it, because it is true.
You are an unusual, brilliant child who has not seen enough of life to grasp the full measure of human stupidity.
I do not care for blindness in any way – I have too much to show. Or deafness – too much to say.
An artists is a trader, Ms. Taggart, the hardest and most exacting of all traders.
People said it because other people said it. They did not know why it was being said and heard everywhere. They did not give or ask for reasons. “Reason,” Dr. Pritchett had told them, “is the most naive of all superstitions.”
For the moment, there was no future. They had earned the present.
It is not proper for man’s life to be a circle, she thought, or a string of circles dropping off like zeros behind him – man’s life must be a straight line of motion from goal to farther goal,each leading to the next and to a single growing sum, like a journey down the track of a railroad, from station to station …
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the panic-pregnant voice …
The thing she felt was like a blessing pronounced upon the universe by means of three words: But of course.
… With a voice like a machine gun spitting smiles.” ― Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged