The hatred of truth is the taproot of violence.

I'm either a mutant or a cripple, and I refuse to be a cripple. People pity cripples, but they're afraid of mutants [...] Fear implies respect.

Life's mysterious, strange, and full of wonders - and only a fool withdraws from it willingly and lets it pass him by.

In tragedy and despair, when an endless night seems to have fallen, hope can be found in the realization taht the companion of night is not another night, that the companion of night is day, that darkness always gives way to light, and that death rules only half of creation, life the other half.

Always, beneath every apparent chaos, order waits to be revealed.

As much as I've produced it looks to people like I must have written quickly, but it isn't that - because I put in in a sixty- or seventy-hour week.

I would not cry. I do not cry. How bitter do you risk becoming by swallowing too many tears?