You may never get to touch the Master, but you can tickle his creatures.

[Oedipa Maas] awoke at last to find herself getting laid.

Let the peace of this day be here tomorrow when I wake up.

It is a curve each of them feels, unmistakably. It is the parabola. They must have guessed, once or twice - guessed and refused to believe - that everything, always, collectively, had been moving toward that purified shape latent in the sky, that shape of no surprise, no second chance, no return. Yet they do move forever under it, reserved for its own black-and-white bad news certainly as if it were the rainbow, and they its children...

It's been a prevalent notion. Fallen sparks. Fragments of vessels broken at the Creation. And someday, somehow, before the end, a gathering back to home. A messenger from the Kingdom, arriving at the last moment. But I tell you there is no such message, no such home -- only the millions of last moments . . . nothing more. Our history is an aggregate of last moments.

The general public has long been divided into two parts; those who think that science can do anything and those who are afraid it will.

For every kind of vampire, there is a kind of cross