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| "You all remember," said the Controller, in his strong
deep voice, "you all remember, I suppose, that beautiful and inspired
saying of Our Ford's: History is bunk. History," he repeated slowly,
"is bunk."
He waved his hand; and it was as though, with an invisible feather whisk, he brushed away a little dust, and the dust was Harappa, was Ur of the Chaldees; some spider-webs, and they were Thebes and Babylon and Cnossos and Mycenae. Whisk. Whisk - and where was Odysseus, where was Job, where were Jupiter and Gotama and Jesus? Whisk - and those specks of antique dirt called Athens and Rome, Jerusalem and the Middle Kingdom - all were gone. Whisk - the place where Italy had been was empty. Whisk, the cathedrals; whisk, whisk King Lear and the Thoughts of Pascal. Whisk, Passion; whisk, Requiem; whisk, Symphony; whisk . . . . "That's why you're taught no history," the Controller was saying. |
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-Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
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