All right then," said the Savage defiantly, "I'm claiming the right to be unhappy.

Industrial man—a sentient reciprocating engine having a fluctuating output, coupled to an iron wheel revolving with uniform velocity. And then we wonder why this should be the golden age of revolution and mental derangement.

Reality, no matter how utopian, seems to be something people need to frequently take a holiday from.

I believe one would write better if the climate were bad. If there were a lot of wind and storms for example.

Words are magical in the way they affect the minds of those who use them.

Only times and places, only names and ghosts.

he had been making an unsuccessful effort to write something about nothing in particular