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...
His team consisted of a group of mavericks. They were cohesive when they needed to be, but their strength was their individual thinking. Many of their enhancements enabled them to do their jobs better...
His strength was enormous, and so was the burning need to kill this man. He'd felt this way on more than one occasion. The drive was an actual need, like breathing, consuming him, almost taking him ou...
His entire life, he hadn't cared if he'd upset someone or made them angry. No one had mattered. He'd found a place inside himself where he was safe, where no one could get to him. But she could--she h...
His body recognized her. Knew her. Needed her. Every cell. He'd never been so acutely focused on another human being.
Science fiction is when we see into the future of our planet, fantasy is when we believe humanity will survive.
Expand your world. (Stories about wizards and spells) are very frequently about power relationships...
Her soft laughter slid into his mind. It wasn't laughter at him, rather an invitation to join in, to laugh at the two of them in this impossible predicament they found themselves in.
Her concern with landscapes and living creatures was passionate. This concern, feebly called, the love of nature seemed to Shevek to be something much broader than love. There are souls, he thought, w...
He was aware that in thus relegating to irrelity a major portion of the only reality, the only existence, that he in fact did have, he was running exactly the same risk the insane mind runs: the losso...
He thinks perhaps there’s a reason our memories are kept hazy and out of focus. Maybe their abstraction serves as an anesthetic, a buffer protecting us from the agony of time and all that it steals an...
He took her breath away. He was solid, all muscle and she could see, even with the veil of gray rain, that his muscles rippled deliciously as he ran.
We live in the most epic of fantasy worlds.
He wanted Shylah to see past his physical appearance to 'him'. He needed her to care who he was.
He wanted to believe in another life where he could have his woman for more than the short time it appeared they had left, but if he didn't ever get that, he would celebrate every second with her now.
He was a machine, not feeling the grueling effects on his muscles as he made the slow crawl between targets, but the longer he was in the field, moving from kill to kill, the more he felt eyes on him.
He was such a mixture, tough as nails and lethal, but with her, unfailingly a gentleman, tender and sweet, looking out for her so carefully.
He worked well with the GhostWaljers, as a member of that team, but having Shylah as a partner was eye-opening. She seemed to anticipate every possibility as he did, and she took steps to protect him...
He wasn't worried about being alone. He was used to it. He'd been alone most of his life, even in the midst of a crowd. He could handle that, no problem.
I am a leg of the death tripod that will destroy our foes.
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