My mother is the war,' declares Roger Mexico, leaning over to open the door.

Why should things be easy to understand?

There was no difference between the behavior of a god and the operations of pure chance.

If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don't have to worry about answers.

They plot, they plot, sleeping or afoot they never let up.

For a moment she'd wondered if the seal around her sockets were tight enough to allow the tears simply to go on and fill up the entire lens space and never dry. She could carry the sadness of the moment with her that way forever, see the world refracted through those tears, those specific tears, as if indices as yet unfound varied in important ways from cry to cry.

Oh, this beer here is cold, cold and hop-bitter, no point coming up for air, gulp, till it's all--hahhhh.