A science fiction writer should try to combine the intimately human with the grandly cosmic.

How do you define God? Like this. A God I could understand, at least potentially, was infinitely more interesting and relevant than one that defied comprehension.

Not wanting to die was another universal constant, it seemed.

The right things to do are those that keep our violence in abeyance; the wrong things are those that bring it to the fore.

Naturally, one does not normally discuss plans to commit murder with the intended victim.

That natural selection can produce changes within a type is disputed by no one, not even the staunchest creationist. But that it can transform one species into another — that, in fact, has never been observed.

No one disputes that seeming order can come out of the application of simple rules. But who wrote the rules?