R.U.R. quotes

Approximately—Miss Glory. But old Rossum meant it literally.

He wanted to become a sort of scientific substitute for God.

He was a fearful materialist, and that’s why he did it all. His sole purpose was nothing more or less than to prove that God was no longer necessary. Crosses to end of couch. Do you know anything about anatomy?

That’s good. Kisses her hand. She lowers her head. Oh, I beg your pardon! Rises. But a working machine must not play the piano, must not feel happy, must not do a whole lot of other things.

A gasoline motor must not have tassels or ornaments, Miss Glory.

And to manufacture artificial workers is the same thing as the manufacture of a gasoline motor. She is not interested. The process must be the simplest, and the product the best from a practical point of view. Sits beside her again.

Pulling herself together. Oh! Perhaps the one who is most honest and hardworking.

No. The one that is the cheapest. The one whose requirements are the smallest.

Young Rossum invented a worker with the minimum amount of requirements. He had to simplify him. He rejected everything that did not contribute directly to the progress of work. Everything that makes man more expensive. In fact he rejected man and made the Robot.

He had to simplify him. He rejected everything that did not contribute directly to the progress of work. Everything that makes man more expensive. In fact he rejected man and made the Robot. My dear Miss Glory, the Robots are not people.

Mechanically they are more perfect than we are; they have an enormously developed intelligence, but they have no soul.

Leans back.

But man is supposed to be the product of God.

All the worse. God hasn’t the slightest notion of modern engineering.

Would you believe that young Rossum then proceeded to play at being God?

No. Bought them, Miss Glory.

Robots are bought and sold.

These were employed as street-sweepers. I saw them sweeping. They were so strange and quiet.

That is death, Marius. Aren’t you afraid of death?

You see, Miss Glory, the Robots have no interest in life. They have no enjoyments. They are less than so much grass.

Oh, stop. Please send them away.

Perhaps it would be better. There’s only a handful of us among a hundred thousand Robots, and not one woman. We talk nothing but the factory all day, and every day.

It’s just as if we were under a curse, Miss Glory.

I’m sorry I said that you were lying. A KNOCK at door R.

Mocking her serious tone. My dear Miss Glory—chuckle—we’ve had close upon a hundred saviors and prophets here. Every ship brings us some. Missionaries, Anarchists, Salvation Army, all sorts!

It’s astonishing what a number of churches and idiots there are in the world.

And yet you let them speak to the Robots.

Impossible, Miss Glory!

Nothing is harder to like than a Robot.

What do you make them for, then?

For work, Miss Glory. One Robot can replace two and a half workmen.

The human machine, Miss Glory, was terribly imperfect. It had to be removed sooner or later.

It was not effective. It no longer answers the requirements of modern engineering. Nature has no idea of keeping pace with modern labor. For example, from a technical point of view, the whole of childhood is a sheer absurdity. So much time lost.

It was not effective. It no longer answers the requirements of modern engineering. Nature has no idea of keeping pace with modern labor.

For example, from a technical point of view, the whole of childhood is a sheer absurdity.

So much time lost. And then again—

Good heavens, what are they to buy? You can feed them on pineapples, straw, whatever you like. It’s all the same to them. They’ve no appetite at all. They’ve no interest in anything.

Why, hang it all, nobody’s ever yet seen a Robot smile.

Why—why don’t you make them—happier?

Domin, Domin, what you say sounds too much like Paradise. There was something good in service and something great in humility.

There was some kind of virtue in toil and weariness.

Perhaps, but we cannot reckon with what is lost when we start out to transform the world. Man shall be free and supreme; he shall have no other aim, no other labor, no other care than to perfect himself.

Man shall be free and supreme; he shall have no other aim, no other labor, no other care than to perfect himself. He shall serve neither matter nor man.

He will not be a machine and a device for production. He will be Lord of creation.

So be it.

Turning her head away. You’re mad.

A man has to be a bit mad, Helena. That’s the best thing about him.

He draws her to him.

That’s the end, then? Removing spectacles. We’re done for.

No more people are being born. That’s a punishment, that’s a punishment.

Standing up. That’s the end of the world. Repeat until off. Picks paper up from floor. She exits L. 1.

Yes, a big thick one.

And has it got prayers for various occasions? Against thunderstorms? Against illness? But not against progress?

That’s a pity.

That’s why I had you put into the library, so that you could read everything, understand everything, and then, oh, Radius—I wanted you to show the whole world that the Robots are our equals. That’s what I wanted of you.

I don’t want a master. I want to be master over others.

I’m sure they’d put you in charge of many Robots. You would be a teacher of the Robots.

She goes about as if in a dream, remote and listless. She’s without life. I watch and wait for a miracle to happen.

Sometimes I think to myself: “If you were to wake up only for a moment you would kill me for having made you.”

And yet you go on making Robots! Why are no more children being born?

Drawing back. No, no, I must do it myself.

Just look at the flames. They are like hands, like tongues, like living shapes.

Raking fire with the poker. Lie down, lie down.

The boat’s coming in. The regular mail boat, exact to the minute by the timetable. It will dock punctually at eleven-thirty.

Punctuality is a fine thing, my friends. That’s what keeps the world in order.

Here’s to punctuality. Men drink.

Divine laws hold good, the laws of the universe hold good, everything holds good that ought to hold good. Gall applauds. The timetable is more significant than the gospel, more than Homer, more than the whole of Kant.

Madame Helena, the timetable is the most perfect product of the human mind.

Madame Helena, I’ll fill up my glass. Gall hands Hallemeier the decanter.

What? But it arrived on the minute.

The Robots are great on punctuality.

Read it, Domin.

Yes. There standing like a wall, beyond the garden railing. Why are they so quiet?

It’s monstrous to be besieged with silence.

Looking through the barred windows. I should like to know what they are waiting for? They must make a start any minute now. If they lean against the railings it will snap like a match.

We made the Robots’ faces too much alike.

A hundred thousand faces all alike, all facing this way. A hundred thousand expressionless bubbles.

It’s like a nightmare.

Swinging around; looking into room. Pause. That was criminal of old Europe to teach the Robots to fight. Damn them. Couldn’t they have given us a rest with their politics? It was a crime to make soldiers of them.

It was a crime to make Robots.

Quietly. Down C. No, Alquist, I don’t regret that even today.

I wanted man to become the master. So that he shouldn’t live merely for the crust of bread. I wanted not a single soul to be broken by other people’s machinery. I wanted nothing, nothing, nothing to be left of this appalling social structure.

I’m revolted by poverty.

I wanted a new generation. I wanted—I thought—

Pauses—back of couch.

What a fine thing music is. We ought to have gone in for that before.

Beauty, lovely things. What a lot of lovely things there are. The world was wonderful, and we—we here—tell me, what enjoyment did we have?

No, it is we are to blame. You, Domin, myself—all of us.

For our own selfish ends, for profit, for progress, we have destroyed mankind.

Now we’ll burst with all our greatness.

I thought that if they were more like us they would understand us better. That they couldn’t hate us if they were only a little more human.

Nobody can hate man more than man.

Oh, don’t speak like that, Harry. It was so terrible, this cruel strangeness between us and them. That’s why I asked Gall to change the Robots. I swear to you that he didn’t want to.

Oh, do you suppose the management controls the output?

It’s the demand that controls the output.

And is it for that we must perish?

Lighting the table lamp at table L. C. The dynamo is still going—our people are still there.

It was a great thing to be a man.

Facing lamp from up C. There was something immense about it.

At corner of table down L. C. Facing lamp. Yes!

A torch to be given from hand to hand from age to age forever!

(The lamp goes out. Explosions.)

Lord, if there are no human beings left, at least let there be Robots. At least the shadow of man. Turning pages. If I could only sleep. Dare I sleep before life has been renewed? Night again.

Are the stars still there? Of what use are the stars?

When there are no human beings. Examining a test tube. Nothing. No. No. I must find it. I must search. I must never stop, never stop—search—search—Knock at door L. Who is it? Enter a Robot Servant.

We had to become the masters.

Slaughter and domination are necessary if you would be human beings. Read history.

Teach us to multiply or we perish.

It was—rising burnt. All draw back one step in consternation.

I am the last human being, Robots, and I do not know what the others knew.

Sits.