Trurl says: Yes, I . . . I wasn’t well
Narration: By now Trurl had recovered from the first shock and was no longer overcome with shame; he knew from considerable experience that Cerebron, though every bit the terror now that he had been in life, would follow this ritual of dreadful abuse and imprecation with something positive.
Narration: The old codger really had a heart of gold and would eventually show him the way out of the woods.
Master says: You blundered because you had no clear idea of what you wanted or how to obtain it
Master says: Your marvellous Contemplator is an amoral mechanism, since it derives its pleasure solely from physical phenomena, including the tormenting and torturing of third persons.
Master says: That’s not the way to build a happy machine.
Master says: As soon as you get home, look up volume XXXVI of my Collected Works, open to page 621 and there you’ll find a blueprint for an Ecstasotron.
Master says: This is the only foolproof type of sentient device that does nothing but feel ten thousand times more bliss than Bromeo knew when he climbed the balcony to see his beloved.
Master says: It was precisely to honor the great Million Shakesphere that I named the unit of measurement after that scene of balconical rapture, calling it a bromeon.
Master says: But you—who never once bothered to leaf through the works of your old master—you defined your idiotic hedons with a nail in a boot!
Master says: A fine way to calibrate the higher soarings of the spirit!
Master says: The machine would literally die laughing!
Master says: but why should I have to explain all this in the middle of the night, flat on my back in a cold grave?
Master says: No doubt my works are collecting dust in some dark, forgotten corner of your library; or else, which seems even more likely, you put them in the cellar as soon as I was buried.
Master says: All right, where do you keep my Opera Omnia? Out with it!
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