In recent weeks, in true messianic style, it has come clear to her that her real identity is literally, the force of gravity. I am Gravity, I am That against which the Rocket must struggle, to which prehistoric wastes submit and are transmuted to the very substance of History.

Some of us are afraid of dying; others of human loneliness. Profane was afraid of land or seascapes like this, where nothing else lived but himself.

The hand of Providence creeps among the stars, giving Slothrop the finger.

What sort of an age is this where a man becomes one's enemy only when his back is turned?

You know what a miracle is. Not what Bakunin said. But another world’s intrusion into this one. Most of the time we coexist peacefully, but when we do touch there’s cataclysm.

Real flight and dreams of flight go together. Both are part of the same movement. Not A before B, but all together.

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