Is it because we’re having so much fun at home we’ve forgotten the world? Is it because we’re so rich and the rest of the world’s so poor and we just don’t care if they are? I’ve heard rumors; the wor...
Is Death important? No. Everything that happens before Death is what counts.
In the silence, our stage whisper might carry.
Impossible, for how many people did you know that refracted your own light to you? People were more often - he searched for a smile,found one in his work - torches, blazing away until they whiffed out...
If you hid your ignorance, no one will hit you and you’ll never learn.
If it seems I've come the long way around, perhaps I have. But I wanted to show what we all have in us, that it has always been there, and so few of us bother to notice. When people ask me where I get...
I'm antisocial, they say. I don't mix. It's so strange. I'm very social indeed. It all depends on what you mean by social, doesn't it?
I think all of us felt, I said, at least once in our lives, when we were young, we could go over there, after reading the bull stuff in the Spanish stories, that we could go over there and fight. Or a...
I think I begin to see where everything fell apart. The books I read, jetsam to you. Junk. Why didn't we realize that ten years back? Lots of things you don't notice when you're- he slowed- in love.
I suppose one night hundreds of thousands of years ago in a cave by a night fire when one of those shaggy men wakened to gaze over the banked coals at his woman, his children, and thought of their bei...
I hate being clever, thought the captain, when you don’t really feel clever and don’t want to be clever. To sneak around andmake plans and feel big about making them. I hate this feeling of thinking I...
I don't mind skulls and bones, said Marie. There's nothing even vaguely human to them. I'm not scared of skulls and hones. They're like something insectile. If a child was raised and didn't know he ha...
I care so much I’m sick.
How many times can a man go down and still be alive?
How long has it been since you wrote a story where your real love or real hatred somehow got onto the paper? When was the last time you dared release a cherished prejudice so it slammed the page like...
How like a mirror, her face. Impossible; for how many people did you know who refracted your own light to you? People were more often - he searched for a simile, found one in his work - torches, blazi...
How like a beautiful statue of ice it was, melting in the sun. I remember the newspapers dying like huge moths. No one wanted them back. No one missed them. And then the Government, seeing how advanta...
His teeth began to chatter. God All-Mighty! he thought, why haven't I realized it all these years? All these years I've gone around with a--SKELETON--inside me! How is it we take ourselves for granted...
Hesitantly, Grandfather, Douglas, and Tom peered through the large windowpane.And there, in the small warm pools of lamplight, you could see what Leo Auffmann wanted you to see. There sat Saul and Mar...
Here’s how my theory goes. We writers are up to the following: We build tensions toward laughter, then give permission, and laughter comes. We build tensions toward sorrow, and at last say cry, and ho...