If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.

Man is always marveling at what he has blown apart, never at what the universe has put together, and this is his limitation.

One does not meet oneself until one catches the reflection from an eye other than human.

The plan is not what you think.

The iron did not remember the blood it had once moved within, the phosphorous had forgot the savage brain.

Out of the choked Devonian waters emerged sight and sound and the music that rolls invisible through the composer's brain. They are there still in the ooze along the tideline, though no one notices. The world is fixed, we say: fish in the sea, birds in the air. But in the mangrove swamps by the Niger, fish climb trees and ogle uneasy naturalists who try unsuccessfully to chase them back to the water. There are things still coming ashore.

I was a shadow among shadows brooding over the fate of other shadows that I alone strove to summon up out of the all-pervading dusk.