Dear Mother, I meant to write you before this and I hope you haven't been worried.... I have met some Beautiful People and...

They were...well, Beautiful People! - not 'students', 'clerks', 'salesgirls', 'executive trainees' - Christ, don't give me your occupation-game labels! We are Beautiful People, ascendant from your robot junkyard.

Everybody is going to be what they are, and whatever they are, there's not going to be anything to apologize about.

I wrote a number of pieces in the year 1966 that were so bad that, although I'm a great collector of my own pieces, I have never collected them.

I think of evolution as a myth, like the Norse myths, the Greek myths - anybody's myths. But it was created for a rational age.

No machines will ever truly fully figure the brain out, because the brain's performance is constantly altered or else constrained by this inanimate, rogue artifact you can't control, namely, speech.

Most people don't read editorial pages. I think I must have been 40 before I even looked at an editorial page.