I am about to die. It is September 11, and every cell in my body is acutely aware of my looming demise. The certainty of it. The inevitability. Not years from now, not weeks nor days. Moments.

There are two competing philosophies in Wool: one is that people have to live under an iron thumb in order to survive, and the other one is that everyone should live completely freely and happily and everything will sort itself out.

Living frugally is one of the best things an author can do to prepare for their career.

One of the many things that surprised me about Wool is how many of its fans don't consider themselves science fiction readers.

Sometimes a thing needed opening before closure was found.

It turned out that some crooked things looked even worse when straightened. Some tangled knots only made sense once unraveled.

Statistics were magic like this: they could tell you with near-certainty that a thing would occur, without a hint of when or where.