There were so many things a tree could do: add color, provide shade, drop fruit or become a children's playground, a whole sky universe to climb and hang from; an architecture of food and pleasure, th...
There is no cause for nostalgia save the good and life-enhancing nostalgia for the present.
I define science fiction as the art of the possible. Fantasy is the art of the impossible. Science fiction, again, is the history of ideas, and they're always ideas that work themselves out and become...
I hate all politics. I don't like either political party. One should not belong to them - one should be an individual, standing in the middle. Anyone that belongs to a party stops thinking.
I know you've heard it a thousand times before. But it's true - hard work pays off. If you want to be good, you have to practice, practice, practice. If you don't love something, then don't do it.
If you drown, at least die knowing you were headed for shore
You're afraid of making mistakes. Don't be. Mistakes can be profited by. Man, when I was young I shoved my ignorance in people's faces. They beat me with sticks. By the time I was forty my blunt instr...
You can’t ever have my books, she said.
You ask Why to a lot of things and you wind up very unhappy indeed, if you keep at it. The poor girl's better off dead
Writing is supposed to be difficult, agonizing, a dreadful exercise, a terrible occupation.
Where do we go from here? Would books help us? Only if the third necessary thing could be given us. Number one, as I said, quality of information. Number two: leisure to digest it. And number three: t...
This will be the one trip of your life. Keep your eyes wide.
They peered at him with their shining honey warm molasses-brown eyes. Their smiles, the white smiles pinned to their faces, were wide as all of summer.
There was a smell of Time in the air tonight. He smiled and turned the fancy in his mind. There was a thought. What did time smell like? Like dust and clocks and people. And if you wondered what Time...
The library is always an adventure!
The darkness within darkness was still.
The crisis is past and all is well, the sheep returns to the fold. We're all sheep who have strayed at times. Truth is truth, to the end of reckoning, we've cried. They are never alone that are accomp...
The books leapt and danced like roasted birds, their wings ablaze with red and yellow feathers.
So the carnival steams by, shakes ANY tree: it rains jackasses.
Second, writing is survival. Any art, any good work, of course, is that.