The red hands had stopped at four-twenty-seven. He wondered what day they had stopped. As he descended the stairs with his armful of books, he wondered at just what moment the clock stopped. Had it be...
The origin of the word body is the Anglo-Saxon bodig meaning abode. Which is what the physical body is, you see, Robert. A transient dwelling for the real self.
The last man in the world was irretrievably stuck with his delusions.
The gift? An ability to utilize the etheric sense despite their encapsulation in the physical body.
No snow or sleet. What about people who like snow? This wouldn’t be heaven to them.
Memory was such a worthless thing, really. Nothing it dealt with was attainable. It was concerned with phantom acts and feelings, with all that was uncapturable except in thought. It was without satis...
Maurice Nicoll says all history is a living today. We are not enjoying one spark of life in a huge, dead waste. We are, instead, existing at one point in a vast process of the living who still think a...
In a world of monotonous horrorthere could be no salvation in wild dreaming.
God, how impossible life is without money. Nothing can ever overcome it, it's everything when it's anything. How can I write in peace with endless worries of money, money, money? (Disappearing Act)
Each memory was brought to life before me and within me. I could not avoid them. Neither could I rationalize, explain away. I could only re-experience with total cognizance, unprotected by pretense. S...
Despite everything he had or might have (except, of course, another human being), life gave no promise of improvement or even of change. The way things shaped up, he would live out his life with no mo...
Chris:I forgive you.Annie: For killing my children and my sweet husband?Chris: For being so wonderful a guy would choose hell over heaven just to be around you.
But are his needs any more shocking than the needs of other animals and men? Are his deeds more outrageous than the deeds of the parent who drained the spirit from his child? The vampire may foster qu...
All these books, he thought, the residue of a planet’s intellect, the scrapings of futile minds, the leftovers, the potpourri of artifacts that had no power to save men from perishing.
He went to clean up the library with a fellow janitor; but the moment he entered the huge room, he gasped, put his heads to his temples and fell down on one knee, gasping, My head! My head!
To look at the entire journey all at once was stupidity. You thought of it in segments; that was the only way.
The death of someone with whom a person has been long and closely associated leaves a literal vacuum in that person’s life,
The day the library was shut down, he thought, some maiden librarian had moved down the room, pushing each chair against its table. Carefully, with a plodding precision that was the cachet of herself.
That's what was wrong with drinking too much. You became immune to drunken delights. There was no solace in liquor. Before you got happy, you collapsed.
Tantos libros -pensó-; restos de la inteligencia de un planeta, migajas de mentes fútiles, popurrí de sistemas incapaces de impedir la muerte del hombre.