As she looked at the sheets of figures announcing losses and more losses, she did not think of the long, senseless agony of the Mexican venture.
It was a "No" flung at some vast process of torture, a denial of suffering, a denial that held the agony of the struggle to break free.
Through the quiet agony of the years of his marriage, there had been one thought which he would not permit himself to consider; the thought of infidelity.
Whatever it was, he thought, whatever the strain and the agony, they were worth it, because they had made him reach this day-this day when the first heat of the first order of Rearden Metal had been poured, to become rails for Taggart Transcontinental.
Do you care to purchase-at the price of your great endurance, at the price of your agony-the satisfaction of the needs of your own destroyers?
It was the shriek of agony, the call for help, the voice of the mills as of a wounded body crying to hold its soul.
Why had he cared about her hour of despair-after the years of agony he had given her?
It was a desperate cry, its sound of laughter and of release confessing all the agony he wanted to sweep away.
Our agony took four years, from our first meeting to our last, and it ended the only way it could end: in bankruptcy.
I can’t tell you the sort of agony I went through three days ago, trying to find somebody able to build five miles of temporary track.
She wanted to punish him for the pain he had caused her and she held her pain as a gun aimed at him, as if she wished to extort his agony at the point of his pity.
She knew that the pain would come later and that it would be a tearing agony of pain, and that the numbness of this moment was a rest granted to her, not after, but before, to make her ready to bear it.
I made it my job to watch for those bright flares in the growing night of savagery, which were the men of ability, the men of the mind-to watch their course, their struggle and their agony-and to pull them out, when I knew that they had seen enough.
You’ll hear the whole course of the last agony of Taggart Transcontinental.
The agony which he lived in his plane, she lived it in a soundless cube of darkness, searching, but finding no answer.
Then he looked at her, as if, in the transition of his three words, he had lived the course of her agony of the past month.
Who are the victims, condemned to remain unacknowledged and to perish in silence, lest their agony disturb your pretense that they do not exist?
It sounded now as if the heart were leaping, beating frantically against its cage of ribs, in agony and in a desperate anger.
She saw his veiled glance and the tautness of his mouth, she saw him reduced to agony, she felt herself drowned by the exultant wish to cause him pain, to see it, to watch it, to watch it beyond her own endurance and his, then to reduce him to the helplessness of pleasure.
But first, before it happens, they’ll go through the whole of the agony-through the shrinking, the shortages, the hunger riots, the stampeding violence in the midst of the growing stillness.
The sounds were like a voice saying: There is no necessity for pain-why, then, is the worst pain reserved for those who will not accept its necessity?-we who hold the love and the secret of joy, to what punishment have we been sentenced for it, and by whom? …. The sounds of torture became defiance, the statement of agony became a hymn to a distant vision for whose sake anything was worth enduring, even this.
She felt that he who had lived through a month of agony, he whom she had hurt so deeply and was about to hurt more deeply still, he would now be the one to give her support and consolation, his would be the strength to protect them both.
He felt the boy’s hand clutching his with the abnormal strength of agony, while he was noticing the tortured lines of the face, the drained lips, the glazing eyes and the thin, dark trickle from a small, black hole in too wrong, too close a spot on the left side of the boy’s chest.
Such was the code that the world had accepted and such was the key to the code: that it hooked man’s love of existence to a circuit of torture, so that only the man who had nothing to offer would have nothing to fear, so that the virtues which made life possible and the values which gave it meaning became the agents of its destruction, so that one’s best became the tool of one’s agony, and man’s life on earth became impractical.
But you cannot live as anything else-and the alternative is that state of living death which you now see within you and around you, the state of a thing unfit for existence, no longer human and less than animal, a thing that knows nothing but pain and drags itself through its span of years in the agony of unthinking self-destruction.
She thought of Hank Rearden as he sat at his desk, now, two thousand miles away, his face tightened into a retaining wall against agony, as it had been tightened under all the blows of all his years-and she felt a desperate wish to fight his battle, to fight for him, for his past, for that tension of his face and the courage that fed itas she wanted to fight for the Comet that crawled by a last effort across a desert on a crumbling track.
It is a conspiracy without leader or direction, and the random little thugs of the moment who cash in on the agony of one land or another are chance scum riding the torrent from the broken dam of the sewer of centuries, from the reservoir of hatred for reason, for logic, for ability, for achievement, for joy, stored by every whining anti-human who ever preached the superiority of the ’heart’ over the mind.