Trust a crowd to look at the wrong end of a miracle every time.

Mankind flung its advance agents ever outward, ever outward. Eventually it flung them out into space, into the colorless, tasteless, weightless sea of outwardness without end. It flung them like stones.

We are all experiments in enthusiasms, narrow and preordained.

My god-life! who can understand eve one little minute of it? 'don't try' he said 'just pretend you understand.

They were lovebirds. They entertained each other endlessly with little gifts: sights worth seeing out the plane window, amusing or instructive bits from things they read, random recollections of times gone by. They were, I think, a flawless example of what Bokonon calls a duprass, which is a karass composed of only two persons.

He had supposed for years that he had no secrets from himself. Here was proof that he had a great big secret somewhere inside, and he could not imagine what it was.

Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.