Ayn Rand

. I am here to complete it: Existence is Identity, Consciousness is Identification.

shaped by the ruthless discipline of a purpose

“Will you tell me just one thing: if you’re able to pretend that you haven’t heard a word I said on the radio, what makes you think I’d be willing to pretend that I haven’t said it?”

She had seen the brief pause of his glance, which no one else could notice; the glance had been more than a kiss, it had been a handshake of approval and support.

Celebrations—she remembered her own words, with a stab of longing—should be only for those who have something to celebrate.

They were offering Galt the best that their view of existence could offer, they were trying to tempt him with that which was their dream of life’s highest fulfillment: this spread of mindless adulation, the unreality of this enormous pretense—approval without standards, tribute without content, honor without causes, admiration without reasons, love without a code of values.

It was Halley’s Concerto swung into a popular tune. It was Halley’s melody torn apart, its holes stuffed with hiccoughs. The great statement of joy had become the giggling of a barroom. Yet it was still the remnant of Halley’s melody that gave it form; it was the melody that supported it like a spinal cord.

He saw the towers of Atlantis shining on the bottom of the ocean. It was a sight of such kind that when one had seen it, one could no longer wish to look at the rest of the earth. John Galt sank his ship and went down with his entire crew. They all chose to do it. My friend was the only one who survived.”

Dagny’s fingers closed about the metal. She felt that; she felt nothing else.
Lillian turned, because Rearden had approached her. He took the diamond bracelet from her hand. He clasped it on her wrist, raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
He did not look at Dagny.

He had no friends in the drafting room. He was there like a piece of furniture, as useful, as impersonal and as silent.