Liberty 5-3000 . . . Liberty five-three thousand . . . Liberty 5-3000 . . . . We wish to write this name. We wish to speak it, but we dare not speak it above a whisper. For men are forbidden to take notice of women, and women are forbidden to take notice of men. But we think of one among women, they whose name is Liberty 5-3000, and we think of no others. We do not wonder at this new sin of ours. It is our second Transgression of Preference, for we do not think of all our brothers, as we must, but only of one, and their name is Liberty 5-3000. We do not know why we think of them. We do not know why, when we think of them, we feel of a sudden that the earth is good and that it is not a burden to live. We do not think of them as Liberty 5-3000 any longer. We have given them a name in our thoughts. We call them the Golden One. But it is a sin to give men other names which distinguish them from other men. Yet we call them the Golden One, for they are not like the others. The Golden One are not like the others. Then they knelt, and bowed their golden head before us. We had never thought of that which we did. We bent to raise the Golden One to their feet, but when we touched them, it was as if madness had stricken us. We seized their body and we pressed our lips to theirs. The Golden One breathed once, and their breath was a moan, and then their arms closed around us. We stood together for a long time. And we were frightened that we had lived for twenty-one years and had never known what joy is possible to men. Today, the Golden One stopped suddenly and said: "We love you." But then they frowned and shook their head and looked at us helplessly. "No," they whispered, "that is not what we wished to say." They were silent, then they spoke slowly, and their words were halting, like the words of a child learning to speak for the first time: "We are one . . . alone . . . and only . . . and we love you who are one . . . alone . . . and only." We looked into each other's eyes and we knew that the breath of a miracle had touched us, and fled, and left us groping vainly. And we felt torn, torn for some word we could not find. [excerpts from chapters 2 & 9, Anthem by Ayn Rand]