I got done writing Ports of Call and suddenly realized I have far too much material for the book.

Of all questions, why? is the least pertinent. It begs the question; it assumes the larger part of its own response; to wit, that a sensible response exists.

Since we are not permitted to act, we are obliged to know.

I worked for half a cent a word. I'm not a fast writer to begin with, so for the first few years I had do other things.

As I mentioned, I was a carpenter for a time.

In the end, death came uniformly to all, and all extracted as much satisfaction from their dying as this essentially graceless process could afford.

I thought that automobiles were going to have mufflers and go fast and airplanes were going to fly fast.