I began my writing career in a very isolated place and time.

Experience suggests it doesn't matter so much how you got here, as what you do after you arrive.

The real unforgivable acts are committed by calm men in beautiful green silk rooms, who deal death wholesale, by the shipload, without lust, without anger, or desire, or any redeeming emotion to excuse them but cold fear of some pretended future. But the crimes they hope to prevent in that future are imaginary. The ones they commit in the present - they are real.

When the souls rise up in glory, yours shall not be shunned nor sunderered, but shall be the prize of the gods' gardens. Even your darkness shall be treasured then, and all your pain made holy.

I don't want power. I just object to idiots having power over me.

One step at a time, I can walk around the world. Watch me.

If there's no game, isn't winning a pretty meaningless concept?