All investigations of Time, however sophisticated or abstract, have at their true base the human fear of mortality.

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

What, I should only trust good people? Man, good people get bought and sold every day. Might as well trust somebody evil once in a while, it makes no more or less sense.

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

Perhaps its familiarity rendered it temporarily invisible to you.

Explosion without an objective', declared Miles Blundell, 'is politics in its purest form'.

What are the stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?