Once, poets were magicians. Poets were strong, stronger than warriors or kings — stronger than old hapless gods. And they will be strong once again.

But to fight something, you really have to try to understand its motivations—particularly when the something you’re fighting holds most of the cards, the deck is stacked against you, and the whole gambling hall is on fire and filled with thugs.

Sometimes the problem outshines the pain.

Of all the planets apart from Earth in our solar system, Mars is the most hospitable. Yeah. Right. Better keep my visit short. And yet, despite the discomfort, the danger, I love it here. I love coming back for these imaginary vacations. The sights are amazing.

Grief is not productive. It simply represents an inefficiency in accepting change of status.

When all hopes are lost, only then does reality acquire that sharp focus that defines who we are and what we have become.

Man is the poet who kills, Woman the angel who eats.