Who could not return from a visit to Jack Vance's world, without feeling that he had been somewhere unique, that he had experienced things unavailable in our mundane world?

Stale is stale and borrowed is borrowed, no matter how original your models may have been.

I find the world and all it contains extremely fascinating. Is this sinful?

Never pass by a chance to shut up.

Living, we fret. Dying, we live. I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll be of good cheer.

It has been suggested that Tiptree is female, a theory that I find absurd, for there is to me something ineluctably masculine about Tiptree’s writing. I don’t think the novels of Jane Austen could have been written by a man nor the stories of Ernest Hemingway by a woman, and in the same way I believe the author of the James Tiptree stories is male.

When you know that something is dying inside you, you learn not to put much trust in the random vitalities of the fleeting moment.