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.

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

Behind the hieroglyphic streets there would either be a transcendent meaning, or only the earth.

He was visited on a lunar basis by these great unspecific waves of horniness, whereby all women within a certain age group and figure envelope became immediately and impossibly desirable. He emerged from these spells with eyeballs still oscillating and a wish that his neck could rotate through the full 360 degrees.

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.

So generation after generation of men in love with pain and passivity serve out their time in the Zone, silent, redolent of faded sperm, terrified of dying, desperately addicted to the comforts others sell them, however useless, ugly or shallow, willing to have life defined for them by men whose only talent is for death.

Get too conceptual, too cute and remote, and your characters die on the page.