As an act of goodwill you must sacrifice all the futures you might have for the one that he designs for you.

It is like reading two books, one with each eye, and understanding them both.

Be the time he finds his way out of the chamber and the planetarium, he has become me.

I have already lost the knowledge of the word whose sound has the shape of a soul. But perhaps it's not too late. Come with me. Hurry now. We still have a chance to be young.

Storytelling--that's not the future. The future, I'm afraid, is flashes and impulses. It's mode up of moments and fragments, and stories won't survive.

And just as he said of me, the thing that his heart desired was not the thing that he professed to want.

Think of it. Going to sleep and waking up later in a science fiction future. It'll be fantastic. The shock and the wonder of it.

In the moment when he died at my hand he had his own heart's desire—not the actual future, but a hope for the best possible future, one that he could not himself imagine.

I truly do not know, and that unnameable feeling that comes with not knowing: it must be worse than grief. It must.

Love, no matter how high or low its form, must be requited, or the lover suffers.

That friend of hers has got to go, though. You're lucky you got stuck with that Dexter guy instead of

If I became a philosopher, if I have so keenly sought this fame for which I'm still waiting, it's all been to seduce women basically.

The missional church is not a new trend or the latest new technique for reaching postmodern people.

What we anticipate seldom occurs; what we least expect generally happens.

Drugs will turn you into your parents.

The price paid for intellectual pacification is the sacrifice of the entire moral courage of the human mind.

I'm persona non grata at the New Yorker.

I live for the moment to hit people.

The only saint is that soul that never weakens, faces everything, and determines to die game.

I don't drink much alcohol. If it doesn't taste like candy or sparkles, I usually don't drink it.

But for what purpose was the earth formed?" asked Candide. "To drive us mad," replied Martin.