If you can't write clearly, you probably don't think nearly as well as you think you do.
World War Two had certainly made everyone very tough.
Das Reich der Zwei, the nation of two my Helga and I had—its territory, the territory we defended so jealously, didn’t go much beyond the bounds of our great double bed. Flat, tufted, springy little c...
As Bokonon says: Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God. The
Why me?- That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?- Yes.- Well, her...
When a man becomes a writer, I think he takes a sacred obligation to produce beauty and enlightenment and comfort at top speed.
Talent is extremely common. What is rare is the willingness to endure the life of the writer.
There is a fine article in the current Reader’s Digest with the title, There are No Atheists in Foxholes.
No trouble. There really isn’t a heck of a lot to the job.
It had to be done, Rumfoord told Billy, speaking of the destruction of Dresden. I know, said Billy. That’s war. I know. I’m not complaining. It must have been hell on the ground. It was, said Billy Pi...
America, wrote Kilgore Trout in MTYOAP: is the interplay of three hundred million Rube Goldberg contraptions invented only yesterday.
All’s bad that ends badly, and it’s only the sick-minded who can feed on the past.
There is a tragic flaw in our precious constitution, and I don't know what can be done to fix it. This is it: Only nut cases want to be president.
Sometimes I think it is a great mistake to have matter that can think and feel. It complains so. By the same token, though, I suppose that boulders and mountains and moons could be accused of being a...
The last thing I ever wanted was to be alive when the three most powerful people on the whole planet would be named Bush, Dick and Colon.
You talk about the Catholics and the Negroes— said the G-man, and yet, here your two best friends are a Catholic and a Negro. What’s so mysterious about that? said Jones. Don’t you hate them? said the...
We humanists try to behave as decently, as fairly, and as honorably as we can without any expectation of rewards or punishments in an afterlife.
This is not the case. I find scant evidence in my nonfiction that I have matured at all. I cannot find a single idea I hadn’t swiped from somebody else and enunciated plonkingly by the time I reached...
The pride in strength and important mystery showed no less in the eyes of the sweepers than in those of the machinists and inspectors, and in those of the foreman, who alone was without a lunchbox. A
Since all the property is undamaged, has the world lost anything it loved?