Science fiction writers, I am sorry to say, really do not know anything.

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

What scared me the most was when my father would put on the gasmask. His face would disappear... This was not a human being at all.

The frogs hopping indoors agree that we are on a prison planet. They themselves are frog criminals that were convicted of doing frog crimes.

He felt all at once like an ineffectual moth, fluttering at the windowpane of reality, dimly seeing it from outside.

Death hides within every religion. And at any time it can flash forth-not with healing in its wings but with poison, with that which wounds.

I will never fully understand; that is the nature of such creatures. Or is this Inner Truth now, this that is happening to me? I will wait. I will see. Which it is. Perhaps it is both.