“Standing among all those tiny, wavering lights, I felt as though I were God, up to my knees in the Milky Way.”

“You know — we've had to imagine the war here, and we have imagined that it was being fought by aging men like ourselves. We had forgotten that wars were fought by babies. When I saw those freshly shaved faces, it was a shock. "'My God, my God — ' I said to myself, 'It's the Children's Crusade.”

“God made mud.God got lonesome.So God said to some of the mud, "Sit up!""See all I've made," said God, "the hills, the sea, thesky, the stars."And I was some of the mud that got to sit up and lookaround.Lucky me, lucky mud.I, mud, sat up and saw what a nice job God had done.Nice going, God.Nobody but you could have done it, God! I certainlycouldn't have.I feel very unimportant compared to You.The only way I can feel the least bit important is tothink of all the mud that didn't even get to sit up andlook around.I got so much, and most mud got so little.Thank you for the honor!Now mud lies down again and goes to sleep.What memories for mud to have!What interesting other kinds of sitting-up mud I met!I loved everything I saw!Good night.I will go to heaven now.I can hardly wait...To find out for certain what my wampeter was...And who was in my karass...And all the good things our karass did for you.Amen.”

“I love you, Eliza,” I said.She thought about it. “No,” she said at last, “I don’t like it.”“Why not?” I said.“It’s as though you were pointing a gun at my head,” she said. “It’s just a way of getting somebody to say something they probably don’t mean. What else can I say, or anybody say, but, ‘I love you, too’?”

“You were just babies then!", she said."What?" I said."You were just babies in the war - like the ones upstairs!"I nodded that this was true. We had been foolish virgins in the war, right at the end of childhood."But you're not going to write it that way, are you." This wasn't a question. It was an accusation."I-I don't know", I said."Well, I know," she said. "You'll pretend you were men instead of babies, and you'll be played in the movies by Frank Sinatra and John Wayne or some of those other glamorous, war-loving, dirty old men. And war will look just wonderful, so we'll have a lot more of them. And they'll be fought by babies like the babies upstairs."So then I understood. It was war that made her so angry. She didn't want her babies or anybody else's babies killed in wars. And she thought wars were partly encouraged by books and movies.So I held up my right hand and I made her a promise: "Mary," I said, "I don't think this book of mine will ever be finished. I must have written five thousand pages by now, and thrown them all away. If I ever do finish it, though, I give you my word of honor: there won't be a part for Frank Sinatra or John Wayne."I tell you what," I said, "I'll call it 'The Children's Crusade.'"She was my friend after that.”

“The Earthlings behaved at all times as though there were a big eye in the sky—as though that big eye were ravenous for entertainment.”

“Billy had a framed prayer on his office wall which expressed his method for keeping going, even though he was unenthusiastic about living. A lot of patients who saw the prayer on Billy’s wall told him that it helped them to keep going, too. It went like this: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom always to tell the difference.” Among the things Billy Pilgrim could not change were the past, the present, and the future.”