Strange how paranoia can link up with reality now and then.

We are in a maze which we built, and then we fell into, now can't get out. To make the game into something real, something more than merely an intellectual exercise, we elected to lose our exceptional faculties, to reduce us an entire level. This unfortunately, includes a loss of memory.

The real origin of science fiction lay in the seventeeth-century novels of exploration in fabulous lands. Therefore Jules Verne's story of travel to the moon is not science fiction because they go by rocket but because of where they go. It would be as much science fiction if they went by rubber band.

You know what the doctor said to me to cheer me up?" Fat said. "There are worse diseases than cancer." "Did he show you slides?" We both laughed. When you are nearly crazy with grief, you laugh at what you can.

There is no route out of the maze. The maze shifts as you move through it, because it is alive.

The will to believe chases out the rational mind, whenever and wherever the two come into conflict.

In a nutshell-I fear authority but at the same time I resent it-the authority and my own fear. So I rebel.