"But what?" he said. "But what?"
He went to a window looking out at the cemetery gate. "But what," he murmured at the gate and the sleet and the Hoenikker shaft that could be dimly seen.
"But," he said, "but how the hell innocent is a man who helps make a thing like an atomic bomb? And how can you say a man had a good mind when he couldn't even bother to do anything when the best-hearted, most beautiful woman in the world was dying for lack of love and understanding . . ."
He shuddered. "Sometimes I wonder if he wasn't born dead. I never met a man who was less interested in the living. Sometimes I think that's the trouble with the world: too many people in high places who are stone-cold dead."
I believe that about sums it up.
That, and we'd all be better off going barefoot more often.
Oh, and there's the Cat's Cradle, the kind you make with string. String theory. And Wampeters, Fomas, and Granfalloons. And saving our souls and our world, because if we don't do it nobody else will.
What else can I say. It's Vonnegut. Just read the book. It may not make you a better person but it'll tickle and jab in all the right places and make you wish you were, and wishing may not help but it couldn't hurt.