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Any allegiance to a deity or concept or universal principal which put obedience above decent behavior toward an innocent human being evil. Doing a life study while drunk and in the process of being seduced is never a formula for quality art. Each heart has its graveyard, each household its dead, And knells ring around us wherever we tread, And the feet that awhile made our pathway so bright Pass on to a land that is out of our sight.
There is a certain solipsism to serious illness which claims all of one's attention as certainly as an astronomical black hole seizes anything unlucky enough to fall within its critical radius. If everyone could understand the working of a psychopath's mind, we undoubtedly would be closer to insanity ourselves. Laws had a bad habit of being ignored or abrogated when societal push came to totalitarian shove.
Every age fraught with discord and danger seems to spawn a leader meant only for that age, a political giant whose absence, in retrospect, seems inconceivable when the history of that age is written.
Merely to live without a pain Is little gladness, little gain, Ah, welcome joy tho' mixt with grief- The thorn-set flower that crowns the leaf.
If there is a true religion in the universe, it must include the truth of contact or be forever hollow. War must never be a condition but, rather, a temporary scourge which we suffer as a child does a fever, knowing that health follows the long night of pain and that peace is health. Words are the light and sound of our existence, the heat lightning by which the night is illuminated. The future is like smoke from a burning forest, waiting for the wind of specific events and personal courage to blow the sparks and embers of reality this way or that. Once evolution gets a good basic design, it tends to throw away the variants and concentrate on the near-infinite diversity within that design. The powerful have received their share of the world's attention even when their power has been shown as sheer evil.
A token of ecological awareness in a society devoted to self destruction and waste but unwilling to acknowledge its indulgent ways. She had always felt that the essence of human experience lay not primarily in the peak experiences, the wedding days and triumphs which stood out in the memory like dates circled in red on old calendars, but, rather, in the unself-conscious flow of little things-the weekend afternoon with each member of the family engaged in his or her own pursuit, their crossings and connections casual, dialogues imminently forgettable, but the sum of such hours creating a synergy which was important and eternal.
Writing, I'm convinced, should be a subversive activity - frowned on by the authorities - and not one cooed over and praised beyond common sense by some teacher. It started 25 years ago, when I was teaching elementary school in a small town in Missouri. As long as my sixth graders showed an average improvement of five years, the principal and district pretty much left me alone to create my own curriculum and teach whatever I wanted. Movie SF is, by definition, dumbed down - there have only been three or four SF movies in the history of film that aspire to the complexity of literary SF.


But I think, and hope, that the novels can be understood and enjoyed as science fiction, on their own terms. I knew that I wanted to be a writer even before I knew exactly what being a writer entailed. It's one of the strangest attributes of this profession that when we writers get exhausted writing one thing, we relax by writing another. No one inspired me to write, but writer Harlan Ellison terrified me into getting published. The truth is, it's not a great career move to create a readership and then, in effect, abandon them.
There's a unique bond of trust between readers and authors that I don't believe exists in any other art form; as a reader, I trust a novelist to give me his or her best effort, however flawed. Luckily, even as a young man not yet become himself, John Bridgens had two things besides indecision that kept him from self-destruction - books and a sense of irony. It is a mystery, and to tell the truth, I am intrigued by mysteries even if this is to be my last week of enjoying them.
To see and feel one's beloved naked for the first time is one of life's pure, irreducible epiphanies. I now understand the need for faith-pure, blind, fly-in-the-face-of-reason faith-as a small life preserver in the wild and endless sea of a universe ruled by unfeeling laws and totally indifferent to the small, reasoning beings that inhabit it.
Words bend our thinking to infinite paths of self-delusion, and the fact that we spend most of our mental lives in brain mansions built of words means that we lack the objectivity necessary to see the terrible distortion of reality which language brings. In twentieth-century Old Earth, a fast food chain took dead cow meat, fried it in grease, added carcinogens, wrapped it in petroleum-based foam, and sold nine hundred billion units. Human beings have only that confusing mass of chemically driven neurological storage to rely on. In the end-when all else is dust-loyalty to those we love is all we can carry with us to the grave. History viewed from the inside is always a dark, digestive mess, far different from the easily recognizable cow viewed from afar by historians. The life of a poet lies not merely in the finite language-dance of expression but in the nearly infinite combinations of perception and memory combined with the sensitivity to what is perceived and remembered.
Barbarians, we call them, while all the while we timidly cling to our Web like Visigoths crouching in the ruins of Rome's faded glory and proclaim ourselves civilized. Writing, Im convinced, should be a subversive activity - frowned on by the authorities - and not one cooed over and praised beyond common sense by some teacher.
Few if any things in life concentrate our attention so completely and terribly, and few things are more boring to listen to or read about. Are you shitting me?" The moravecs loved the ancient human colloquial phrases, the more scatological the better.


You want to be one of those rare human beings who make history, rather than merely watch it flow around them like water around a rock.
The Bikura have realized the human dream of immortality and have paid for it with their humanity and their immortal souls. I would welcome some glimmer of understanding but, failing that, working on the puzzle will suffice. Liberals saw it as a resurgence of social protest and decried the discrimination, poverty, and hunger that had provoked it.
Sol realized then what he had known and forgotten about very small communities: they were frequently annoying, always parochial, sometimes prying on a one-to-one level, but never had they subscribed to the vicious legacy of the so-called "public's right to know". How is it like humankind?" Sek Hardeen's perfectly modulated, softly accented tones showed a hint of agitation.
After the wet spring, everything that could turn green had outdone itself in greenness and everything that could even dream of blooming or blossoming was in bloom and blossom.
If there is a true religion in the universe, it must include that truth of contact or be forever hollow.
When we are old and failing, it is the memories of childhood which can be summoned most clearly. But I know now that buried things have a way of rising to the surface when one least expects them to.
I watch the American slaughterhouse, the casual attacks on popes, presidents, and uncounted others, and I wonder if there are many more out there with the Ability or if butchery has simply become the modern way of life.
I dealt with the Ding an Sich, the substance behind the shadow, weaving powerful concepts, similes, and connections the way an engineer would raise a skyscraper with the whiskered-alloy skeleton being constructed long before the glass and plastic and chromaluminum appears.
Conservative columnists acidly pointed out that hungry people don't steal stereo systems first and called for a crackdown in law enforcement. To make love to the one true person who deserves that love is one of the few absolute rewards of being a human being, balancing all of the pain, loss, awkwardness, loneliness, idiocy, compromise, and clumsiness that go with the human condition. All of the reasoned editorials sounded hollow in light of the perverse randomness of the event. We multiply without thought to the countless life forms that must die or be pushed aside so that we may breed and flourish. These monsters have fertilized our century with the mass graves of their victims and it is time that the powerless had names and faces - and voices. It was as if only a thin wall of electric lighting protected the great cities of the world from total barbarism.



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