...for the human brain can become the best torture house of all those it has invented, established and used in a millions of years, in millions of lands, on millions of howling creatures.

My loathings are simple: stupidity, oppression, crime, cruelty, soft music.

Treading the soil of the moon, palpating its pebbles, tasting the panic and splendor of the event, feeling in the pit of one's stomach the separation from Terra-these form the most romantic sensation an explorer has ever known . . . this is the only thing I can say about the matter. The utilitarian results do not interest me.

The writer's job is to get the main character up a tree, and then once they are up there, throw rocks at them.

Words without experience are meaningless.

The contemplation of beauty, whether it be a uniquely tinted sunset, a radiant face, or a work of art, makes us glance back unwittingly at our personal past and juxtapose ourselves and our inner being with the utterly unattainable beauty revealed to us.

My God died young. Theolatry i found Degrading, and its premises, unsound. No free man needs God; but was I free?