Imagination... its limits are only those of the mind itself.

Why do I write? I guess that's been asked of every writer. I don't know. It isn't any massive compulsion.

Imagination... its limits are only those of the mind itself.

I don't have any system. I dictate a lot, through a machine, and I also have a secretary. But I used to type just like everybody else.

I don't think it's man's function to write. I don't think it's a normal thing like teeth-brushing and going to the bathroom. It's a supered position on the animal.

I write much better in the nonconfines of the early morning than I do the clutter of the day.

Star Trek, I thought, was a very inconsistent show, which at times sparkled with true ingenuity and pure science fiction approaches, and other times was more carnival-like, and very much more the creature of television than the creature of a legitimate literary form.