Perhaps this is the purpose of all art, all writing, on the murders, fiction and non-fiction: Simply to participate.

Don't leave home without your sword - your intellect.

Behind this mask there is more than just flesh. Beneath this mask there is an idea... and ideas are bulletproof.

Janey accuses me of chasing jailbait. She bursts into angry tears, asking if it's because she's getting older. It's true. She's aging more noticeably every day — while I am standing still. I prefer the stillness here. I am tired of Earth. These people. I am tired of being caught in the tangle of their lives.

If you're functional, it doesn't matter if you're mad.

Technology is always a two-edged sword. It will bring in many benefits, but also many disasters.

As I see it, a successful story of any kind should be almost like hypnosis: You fascinate the reader with your first sentence, draw them in further with your second sentence and have them in a mild trance by the third. Then, being careful not to wake them, you carry them away up the back alley of your narrative and when they are hopelessly lost within the story, having surrendered themselves to it, you do them terrible violence with a softball bag and then lead them whimpering to the exit on the last page. Believe me, they'll thank you for it.