Stop worrying, nobody gets out of this world alive.

Even in moments of tranquility, Murray Walker sounds like a man whose trousers are on fire.

First-rate science fiction was, and remains, more interesting than second-rate art.

Every sentence he manages to utter scatters its component parts like pond water from a verb chasing its own tail.

People should be stopped from writing poetry. There's far too much of it. And if they're any good, they'll go ahead anyways.

She was good at playing abstract confusion in the same way that a midget is good at being short.

As a work of art, it reminds me of a long conversation between two drunks