The train skimmed on softly, slithering, black pennants fluttering, black confetti lost on its own sick-sweet candy wind, down the hill, with the two boys pursuing, the air was so cold they ate ice cream with each breath.

How to feel your way toward something honest, hidden under the trapdoor on the top of your skull.

I don't write science fiction. I've only done one science fiction book and that's Fahrenheit 451, based on reality. Science fiction is a depiction of the real. Fantasy is a depiction of the unreal.

Love is easy, and I love writing. You can't resist love. You get an idea, someone says something, and you're in love.

Only if the third necessary thing could be given us. Number one, as I said: quality of information. Number two: leisure to digest it. And number three: the right to carry out actions based on what we learn from the interaction of the first two.

Teachers are to inspire; librarians are to fulfill.

Digression is the soul of wit.