No, thought Oedipa, sad. As if their home cemetery in some way still did exist, in a land where you could somehow walk, and not need the East San Nar… - Thomas Pynchon

As if the dead really do persist, even in a bottle of wine.

And when Franz Ferdinand pays, everybody pays!

"And one cried wee, wee, wee, all the way — " Jessica breaking down in a giggle as he reaches for the spot along her sweatered flank he knows she can't bear to be tickled in. She hunches, squirming, out of the way as he rolls past, bouncing off the back of the sofa but making a nice recovery, and by now she's ticklish all over, he can grab an ankle, elbow — But a rocket has suddenly struck. A terrific blast quite close beyond the village: the entire fabric of the air, the time, is changed — the casement window blown inward, rebounding with a wood squeak to slam again as all the house still shudders.
Their hearts pound. Eardrums brushed taut by the overpressure ring in pain. The invisible train rushes away close over the rooftop....
They sit still as the painted dogs now, silent, oddly unable to touch. Death has come in the pantry door: stands watching them, iron and patient, with a look that says try to tickle me.

The general public has long been divided into two parts; those who think that science can do anything and those who are afraid it will.