It's been suggested that most women fail to write significantly because the female mind is viscerotonic, and occupied almost exclusively with the moment-to-moment reality of emotions. If this is true, literature's loss is science fiction's gain, for Out of Bounds, Judith Merril's collection of short stories, is a warm and colorful rendering of the minutiae of the future.

No matter how we defend ourselves against the outside we're always licked by something from the inside. Ther's no defense against betrayal, and we all betray ourselves.

If a man's got talent and guts to buck society, he's obviously above average. You want to hold on to him. You straighten him out and turn him into a plus value. Why throw him away? Do that enough and all you've got left are the sheep.

Be grateful that you only see the outward man. Be grateful that you never see the passions, the hatreds, the jealousies, the malice, the sicknesses... Be grateful you rarely see the frightening truth in people.

I challenge you, me. Die or live and be great.

Intellect is the ability to avoid belaboring the obvious.

The damnable frustration of revenge. Revenge is for dreams...never for reality.