I know people, I know towns, farms, hills and rivers and rocks, I know how the sun at sunset in autumn falls on the side of a certain plowland in the hills; but what is the sense of giving a boundary to all that, of giving a name and ceasing to love where the name ceases to apply?

Everything gives way before the recurring torment and festivity of passion.

Part of the particular interest and beauty of science fiction and fantasy: writer and reader collaborate in world-making.

To see that your life is a story while you're in the middle of living it may be a help to living it well.

I think what's happening is, it's all - fantasy, science fiction, ghosts, trolls, whatever - finally being called, being admitted to be literature. The way it used to be, before the Realists and the bloody Modernists took over.

Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings

They can send death at once, but life is slower.