The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him... [from Macbeth]

Truth is a well-known pathological liar. It invariably turns out to be Fiction wearing a fancy frock. Self-proclaimed Fiction, on the other hand, is entirely honest. You can tell this, because it comes right out and says, "I'm a Liar," right there on the dust jacket.

The things we do without the fear of failure and the desire for success are the purest acts we'll ever do

Our masters have not heard the people's voice for generations and it is much, much louder than they care to remember.

There's no flesh or blood within this cloak to kill. There's only an idea. Ideas are bulletproof.

Artists use lies to tell the truth. Yes, I created a lie. But because you believed it, you found something true about yourself.

Consciousness, unprovable by scientific standards, is forever, then, the impossible phantom in the predictable biologic machine, and your every thought a genuine supernatural event. Your every thought is a ghost, dancing.