Keep an eye on the weather, which is changing faster than predicted, and on the new diseases escaping or being made, even as we speak. It's a race between new tech and biosphere bankruptcy, I'd say.

We are a society dying, said Aunt Lydia, of too much choice.

The act of making a photograph is less a question of what is being looked at than how.

Time has not stood still. It has washed over me, washed me away, as if I'm nothing more than a woman of sand, left by a careless child too near the water.

If a stranger taps you on the ass and says, "How's the little lady today!" you will probably cringe. But if he's an American, he's only being friendly.

Thy only authentic ending is the one provided here: John and Mary die, John and Mary die, John and Mary die.

It's only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at all. When you're telling it, to yourself or to someone else.