All writers have roots they draw from - travel, work, family. My roots are in science and it is fertile ground for fiction.

Events, once happened, lose reality, alter with a glance, a storm, a night. In time, the past never happened. But who could know? Who could know that the past is not as solid as this instant.

Each time is true, but the truths are not the same.

A world in which time is absolute is a world of consolation. For while the movements of people are unpredictable, the movement of time is predictable. While people can be doubted, time cannot be doubted. While people brood, time skips ahead without looking back.

Except for a God who sits down after the universe begins, all other gods conflict with the assumptions of science.

Every essay - the subject matter of every essay - is ultimately about the essayist; him or herself. That ultimately, every essayist is writing about his or her view of the world.

The tragedy of this world is that everyone is alone. For a life in the past cannot be shared with the present.