One thing should be put firmly. Where people have commented on that novel [The Paper Men], they generally criticize the poor academic, Rick L. Tucker, who is savaged by the author, Wilfred Barclay. I don't think people have noticed that I have been far ruder about Barclay than I have been about Tucker. Tucker is a fool, but Barclay is a swine. The author really gets his come-uppance.

Which is better--to have laws and agree, or to hunt and kill?

They looked at each other, baffled, in love and hate.

Together, joined in effort by the burden, they staggered up the last steep of the mountain. Together, they chanted One! Two! Three! and crashed the log on to the great pile. Then they stepped back, laughing with triumphant pleasure.

There were no words, and no movements but the tearing of teeth and claws.

Childhood is a disease - a sickness that you grow out of.

If faces were different when lit from above or below -- what was a face? What was anything?