Life is a green madness just now, trying to squeeze the last bit of warmth from the season.
When I began writing science fiction in the middle 60s, it seemed very easy to find ideas that took decades to percolate into the cultural consciousness; now the lead time seems more like eighteen months.
What we have is a data glut.
Once upon a time I was such a good liar; I could talk the fish right into my mouths.
It was not called the Net of a Million Lies for nothing.
Peregrine Wickwrackscar was flying. A pilgrim with legends that went back almost a thousand years-and not one of them could come near to this!