Instead, as the crystal splinters entered Hornwrack's brain, he experienced two curious dreams of the Low City, coming so quickly one after the other that they seemed simultaneous. In the first, long...
The first time we spoke, Mr. Ambraysas told me, 'Identity is not negotiable. An identity you have achieved by agreement is always a prison.
Egnaro is a secret known to everyone but yourself.It is a country or a city to which you have never been; it is an unknown language. At the same time it is like being cuckolded, or plotted against. It...
Every moment of a science fiction story must represent the triumph of writing over worldbuilding.
Outside, a dog sprawls among the empty tables, its body rocking with the evening heat. Someone has given it a hamburger which first it guards, then, eventually, eats. It's some kind of winter dog, a m...
Uncouth, clannish, lumbering about the confines of Space and Time with a puzzled expression on his face and a handful of things scavenged on the way from gutters, interglacial littorals, sacked settle...
He was, and always had been, the repository of more fears than hopes.
When I was little, she thought, I wanted nothing except to stop travelling. I wanted time for each new thing, each new feeling, to be held properly in suspension until it could be joined by the next....
Before I came to the city I cut off my hair. It was the first of many fatally symbolic gestures.
People try to help, but all they have to work with is their theory of you. In the end they’re talking to themselves.
Horse-chestnut flowers bobbed like white wax candles above the deserted pavements. An oblique light struck into the street - so that its long and normally profitless perspective seemed to lead straigh...
It's 2444. We're all someone.
In the morning -- 'When the world looks promising again despite what we know about it' -- ...
Who can but shiver and forgive in the damp theatrical airs of dawn? A
…there is endless despair at the centre of every narcissistic self-portrait.
He ran toward the light. When he passed the corpse of his dead friend, he began to weep again. He picked up his sword. He tried to smash a crystal window with its hilt. The corridor oppressed him. Bey...
Everyone loves a mysterious country.
Manufacture dooms in your head and you will go mad. Reality is incontravertible. Also, it will not be anticipated.
Stories pass the experienced world back and forth between them as a metaphor, until it is worn out. Only then do we realize that meaning is an act. We must repossess it, instant to instant in our live...
You can't cure people of their character,' she read. After this he had crossed something out then gone on, 'You can't even change yourself. Experiments in that direction soon deteriorate into bitter,...
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