The same thing twice — page 13
The prices nobody can break away from
When houses are sold to buyers who value them differently, there is a whole range of prices at which nobody wants to walk away, and it has a remarkable shape — one corner best for every buyer at once, one best for every seller at once, and the buyers' corner pays each buyer exactly what the market would lose without them.
A rectangle made only of squares
A rectangle can be cut into finitely many squares — of any sizes, as many as wanted — exactly when its two sides are in whole-number proportion. Max Dehn proved it in 1903, and the proof that stuck, found by four Cambridge undergraduates in 1940, reads the squares as currents in an electrical circuit.
No odd number of equal triangles
A square can be cut into two triangles of equal area, or four, or any even number. It cannot be cut into three, or five, or any odd number — whatever shapes the triangles take. Paul Monsky's proof of 1970 has no geometry in its engine at all: it colours the points of the plane by how divisible their coordinates are by two.
Where the Collatz map is a coin
Extend the Collatz map from the whole numbers to the 2-adic integers — binary strings that run on for ever to the left — and it stops being mysterious. It becomes, after a change of coordinates, the simplest chaotic system there is: shifting a string of coin tosses one place. Everything about it is then known, and none of it says anything about the whole numbers, which is the most instructive failure in the whole story.
The skeleton inside a shape
Take the Voronoi diagram not of a handful of points but of a shape's whole outline: the points inside the shape that have two nearest points on its edge. What comes out is a skeleton — a thin branching tree that describes the shape and, with one number attached to each point, rebuilds it exactly. It is also where fires lit all round the edge would meet, and it is violently unstable: a tooth too small to notice grows a branch several times its own size.
Three mirrors make every solid
Every symmetry of a regular solid, reflections included, is produced by just three mirrors meeting at its centre, reflected in one another over and over — a kaleidoscope. Put a single point between the three mirrors and its reflections are the corners of a solid: the regular solid itself if the point sits in a corner, and every one of its truncated and expanded relatives if it sits anywhere else.
The program that prints itself
The diagonal argument has always been used to destroy — to show that a list misses something, that a sentence cannot be proved. Run the same move the other way and it builds. Kleene's recursion theorem says every program can be given its own text to work with, and the proof is a program that prints itself, thirty-two characters long, which can be run and checked.
An error bar for points that are not random
Evenly spread points integrate far better than random ones and give no error bar; random points give an error bar and integrate badly. Randomise the even points themselves — shift a lattice by a random vector, or scramble the digits of a Sobol' sequence — and both are kept: an unbiased estimate, a confidence interval from a handful of repeats, and an error that falls faster than any deterministic set's.
Counting targets by their holes
The Euler characteristic adds up like an area: glue two shapes together and it is the sum of theirs minus that of their overlap. So it can be used to measure, and measuring with it does something no area can. A field of sensors that each report only how many targets they detect — not which, not where — can have its readings added up, weighted by the Euler characteristics of the regions where the count is high, and the answer is exactly the number of targets.
The count a fold cannot change
A curved map can fold the plane over itself, so that one point has three preimages and its neighbour has one. Count each preimage with the sign of the determinant there and the jump disappears — the signed count is the same everywhere, and it is a whole number.
The error that keeps coming back to its worst
Judge a polynomial by its largest error on an interval and there is exactly one best one of each degree. It is recognised without comparing it to anything else — its error rises to the same largest size, alternately above and below, one more time than there are coefficients.
An ellipse, not a disc
A Taylor series converges on a disc, and the disc's radius is the distance to the nearest singularity. Ask instead how well polynomials can follow a function on an interval, and the answer is an ellipse with the interval's ends as its foci — the largest one the function is smooth inside.
Prices at every corner
The duality theorem says a linear program's best value equals its dual's, and says nothing about how to find either. The simplex method finds both at once — it walks from corner to corner, and at each one asks the constraints that meet there for prices. A negative price names an edge that climbs; when none is negative, the prices are the proof.
The centre a straightedge cannot find
Give a straightedge one circle and its centre, and it can do everything a compass can. Take the centre away and it cannot even find it again — because to a straightedge a circle has no centre. The maps that keep a circle and its straight lines are the motions of the hyperbolic plane, and in that plane the centre is a point like any other.
The lengths dividers cannot reach
A pair of dividers carries a length from one place to another and draws nothing. With a straightedge it finds midpoints, parallels and right angles, and it draws the regular 17-gon. It cannot draw a segment of length √(1 + √2) — and the reason is not on the page at all, but in the other root of the equation that number solves.
The longest climb of a shuffle
Erdős and Szekeres guarantee that any n distinct numbers hold a climb or a fall of √n, and there are orders that allow nothing more. Shuffle a deck at random instead and the longest climb is almost exactly 2√n — with fluctuations of size n to the power one-sixth, distributed exactly as the largest eigenvalue of a large random matrix.
Every point has a partner across the bisectors
Draw the three lines from the corners of a triangle through any point, reflect each in the bisector of its own angle, and the three reflections meet again. The pairing this makes swaps the centroid with the symmedian point and the orthocentre with the circumcentre, bends every straight line into a conic through the corners, and sends the circumcircle to infinity.
A triangle that fits once fits everywhere
Put one circle inside another and try to fit a triangle between them, its corners on the outer circle and its sides touching the inner. Usually no triangle fits. But if one does, then one fits starting from every point of the outer circle — and whether it does is decided by a single equation in the two radii and the distance between the centres.
Two lists that are one order
The rationals and the fractions with a power of two below are different sets of numbers, and as orders they are exactly the same — any two countable orders that are dense and have no ends can be matched, point for point, keeping every comparison. The proof is a zigzag, and it settles every question the language of order can ask.
The graph that coin tosses always make
Take infinitely many vertices and toss a coin for every pair to decide whether they are joined. The result is random in every detail — and, with probability one, it is always the same graph. The same graph can be written down without any coins, by joining two numbers when one binary digit of the larger is a one.
How evenly the fractions spread
List every fraction between nought and one with denominator at most n, in order. They spread across the interval almost evenly, and how fast the unevenness shrinks as n grows is — exactly, provably — the Riemann hypothesis. The link runs through a second fact: set the fractions round a circle and add them as arrows, and what is left is a whole number.
Counting the classes that break factorisation
The class number measures how badly unique factorisation fails in a field, and defined through ideals it looks impossible to compute. Gauss computed it by hand, for every field he wanted, by counting quadratic forms — and every form can be squeezed, by changes of variable that keep its values, into exactly one small standard shape.
The narrowest door sets the pace
How fast a chain forgets is an eigenvalue, and nobody can compute the eigenvalues of a chain worth studying. Cheeger's inequality trades the eigenvalue for a picture — the narrowest door in the state space — and pins the one between the square of the other and twice it. Both ends of that range are reached, on graphs small enough to search completely.
The forgetting that happens all at once
A single small chain forgets its start gradually, a little more with every step. A family of large ones can do something different — stay almost perfectly informed about where it began, and then lose all of it inside a window far shorter than the wait. That cliff is the cutoff phenomenon, and it is why "seven shuffles" is an answer rather than a convention.