You can't choose your childhood, it's just what happens to you. But after that you choose. And that's really what (makes you).

None of us know our real names.

You can never properly predict the future as it really turns out. So you are doing something a little different when you write science fiction. You are trying to take a different perspective on now.

It's fragile what we know. It's gone every time we forget. Then someone has to learn it all over again.

In the beginning was the dream, and the work of disenchantment never ends.

We’ll all say that. We’ll all go on and make the place safe. Roads, cities. New sky, new soil. Until it’s all some kind of Siberia or Northwest Territories, and Mars will be gone and we’ll be here, and we’ll wonder why we feel so empty. Why when we look at the land we can never see anything but our own faces.

An excess of reason is itself a form of madness