Lovemaking seems all too absurd when described.

In twentieth-century Old Earth, a fast food chain took dead cow meat, fried it in grease, added carcinogens, wrapped it in petroleum-based foam, and sold nine hundred billion units. Human beings. Go figure.

No one inspired me to write, but writer Harlan Ellison terrified me into getting published.

A token of ecological awareness in a society devoted to self destruction and waste but unwilling to acknowledge its indulgent ways.

It no longer matters who consider themselves the masters of events. Events no longer obey their masters.

Fate and victory shift ... now this way, now that way -- like a line of unarmored men under a hail of enemy arrows.

Most of us do know we have no immortality. And when you've found a genius, someone who has already purchased his immortality in musical or literary terms, it's maddening.