Ask yourself this question. Do we have to be humans forever? Consciousness is exhausted. Back now to inorganic matter. This is what we want. We want to be stones in a field.

Only a catastrophe gets our attention. We want them, we depend on them. As long as they happen somewhere else.

There's a moral force in a sentence when it comes out right. It speaks the writer's will to live.

The greater the scientific advance, the more primitive the fear.

It is all falling indelibly into the past.

People will not die. Isn't this the creed of the new culture? People will be absorbed in streams of information. I know nothing about this. Computers will die. They're dying in their present form. They're just about dead as distinct units.

He'd once told me that the art of getting ahead in New York was based on learning how to express dissatisfaction in an interesting way. The air was full of rage and complaint. People had no tolerance for your particular hardship unless you knew how to entertain them with it.