Mars is empty now. Five hundred years from now, it'll be full of people.

Into the air, over the valleys, under the stars, above a river, a pond, a road, flew Cecy. Invisible as new spring winds, fresh as the breath of clover rising from twilight fields, she flew.

Who has more pockets than a magician? A boy. Whose pockets contain *more* than a magicians? A boy's.

Most of my short stories are fantasy.

Without the library, you have no civilization.

The Internet is a big distraction. It's distracting, it's meaningless; it's not real. It's in the air somewhere.

We have everything we need to be happy, but we aren't happy. Something's missing.