It was a world of acts, and words had no more influence on acts than the sound of a waterfall has on the flow of the stream.

First you fall in love with Antarctica, and then it breaks your heart.

Below the 40th latitude there is no law; below the 50th no god; below the 60th no common sense and below the 70th no intelligence whatsoever.

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.

What kind of Dv would it take to escape history, to escape an inertia that powerful, and carve a new course? The hardest part is leaving Earth behind.

Every moment an epiphany arrives and cleaves the mountain asunder

It was a mistake to speak one's mind at any time, unless it perfectly matched your political purpose; and it never did.