Top 3 Slaughterhouse-Five quotes
“It is so short and jumbled and jangled, Sam, because there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds. And what do the birds say? All there is to say about a massacre, things like “Poo-tee-weet?””
Chapter 1
In this quote, Kurt Vonnegut, in his role as the narrator, directly communicates with his publisher, Seymour (“Sam”) Lawrence. He appears to express regret for submitting a manuscript that is both brief and disjointed. The paradox in this passage lies in the fact that if a massacre defies intelligent commentary, then the act of penning a book about such an event, regardless of its brevity, is a significant achievement. The book might serve as a simple signal, akin to a bird’s song, indicating that life persists even in a world ravaged by destruction. The bird’s curious chirp reappears in the novel’s final line, leaving us pondering the nature of life in the wake of war - the greatest adversary of life.
“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.”
Chapter 3
This excerpt is from Chapter 3, following Billy’s abduction and transportation to Tralfamadore in 1968. Here, he observes the same inscription on a locket worn by Montana Wildhack, the actress chosen to procreate with Billy in the Tralfamadorian exhibit. The inscription illuminates the core tension of Billy’s endeavor to lead a Tralfamadorian existence in a human world: he adheres to the Tralfamadorian concept of a fourth dimension of time and cyclical time, yet he resides in a world where everyone else perceives time as a singular, linear progression. Tralfamadorians would contend that humans are oblivious to the indistinguishability between the things they can’t alter, because there is no distinction; in a universe of preordained, organized moments, nothing is up for negotiation.
“Billy answered. There was a drunk on the other end. Billy could almost smell his breath—mustard gas and roses. It was a wrong number. Billy hung up.”
Chapter 4
In Chapter 4, following his daughter’s wedding in 1967, Billy finds himself restless and out of bed. He is aware that the extraterrestrial spacecraft will soon arrive for him. He meanders into his daughter’s vacant room when the phone rings, and on the other end is an inebriated individual. Intriguingly, Billy asserts that he can almost detect the scent of mustard gas and roses on the caller’s breath. This detail surfaces through a form of empathy that appears to link disparate moments in the all-knowing narration. We, as readers, identify this intoxicated caller from Chapter 1: it’s Kurt Vonnegut, the author, who in his middle age tends to make late-night, alcohol-fueled calls to former girlfriends, his breath reeking of mustard gas and roses. This peculiar blend of mustard gas, commonly used as a chemical weapon, and roses, emblematic of love, underscores the profound impact the war has had on Vonnegut’s life.
