I don't understand how any good art could fail to be political.

In Kilanga, people knew nothing of things they might have had - a Frigidaire? a washer-dryer combination? Really, they'd sooner imagine a tree that could pull up its feet and go bake bread. It didn't occur to them to feel sorry for themselves.

Everything truly important is washable.

Root out all the "to be" verbs in your prose and bludgeon them until dead. No "It was" or "they are" or "I am." Don't let it be, make it happen.

In a world as wrong as this one, all we can do is make things as right as we can.

Food is the rare moral arena in which the ethical choice is generally the one more likely to make you groan with pleasure.

People read books to escape the uncertainties of life.