Note: The typographical errors found in the excerpts that follow do not necessarily appear in the original source.
There was fog that night. An evil, brownish fog that pressed hard on the backs of the big waves that slid under the boat. They had come all the way from America, those waves. They had squeezed between the granite fortifications of the Hebrides, shrunk and refored in the westerly breeze. Now, nothing was going to stop them except the stone shores of Scotland, seven miles down to starboard.
[excerpted from Deadeye by Sam Llewellyn.]
The great liability of the engineer compared to men of other professions is that his works are out in the open where all can see them. His acts, step by step, are in hard substance. He cannot bury his mistakes in the grave like the doctors. He cannot argue thme into this air or blame the judge like the lawyers. He cannot, like the architectes, cover his failures with trees and vines. He cannot, like the politicaians, screen his sortcomings by blaming his oponents and hope that the people will forget. The engineer simply cannot deny that he did it. If his works do not work, he is damned.
[excerpted from To engineer is human, by Hentry Petrowski.]
The light was ebbing, and Eddie Willers could not distinguish the bun's face. The bum had said it simply, without expression. But from the sunset far at the end of the street, yellow glints caught his eyes, and the eyes looked straight at Eddie Willers, mocking and still---as if the question had been addressed to the causless uneasiness within him.
[excerpted from Atlas Shugged, by Ayn Rand.]