People are tired of simple things. They want to be challenged.

Entering a novel is like going on a climb in the mountains: You have to learn the rhythms of respiration - acquire the pace. Otherwise you stop right away.

The pleasures of love are pains that become desirable, where sweetness and torment blend, and so love is voluntary insanity, infernal paradise, and celestial hell - in short, harmony of opposite yearnings, sorrowful laughter, soft diamond.

Books are not made to be believed, but to be subjected to inquiry.

Perhaps I am not as wise as I like to think I am.

It comes down to a question of attention: it's difficult to use the Net distractedly, unlike the television or the radio.

For, I must tell you, in this world where today all lose their minds over many & wondrous Machines - some of which, alas, you can see also in this Siege - I construct Aristotelian Machines, that allow anyone to see with Words.