Here is the essence of mankind’s creative genius: not the edifices of civilization nor the bang-flash weapons which can end it, but the words which fertilize new concepts like spermatoza attacking an ovum. It might...

As Ummon and the other Masters teach, it explains why the giraffe evolved a long neck but never why the other animals did not. It explains why humankind evolved to intelligence, but not why the...

The past is dead and buried. But I know now that buried things have a way of rising to the surface when one least expects them to.

The beauty of that June day was almost staggering. After the wet spring, everything that could turn green had outdone itself in greenness and everything that could even dream of blooming or blossoming was in...

Prison always has been a good place for writers, killing, as it does, the twin demons of mobility and diversion

No parent would refuse that, Rachel.

evolution is not progress, that there is no ‘goal’ or direction to evolution. Evolution is change. Evolution ‘succeeds’ if that change best adapts some leaf or branch of its tree of life to conditions of...

To see and feel one’s beloved naked for the first time is one of life’s pure, irreducible epiphanies. If there is a true religion in the universe, it must include that truth of contact or...

Words bend our thinking to infinite paths of self-delusion, and the fact that we spend most of our mental lives in brain mansions built of words means that we lack the objectivity necessary to see...

To be a poet, I realized, a true poet, was to become the Avatar of humanity incarnate; to accept the mantle of poet is to carry the cross of the Son of Man, to suffer...

My intellect was my greatest vanity.

The shortest route to courage is absolute ignorance.

The essence of honor lay in the moment of combat between equals.

When the last autumn of Dickens’s life was over, he continued to work through his final winter and into spring. This is how all of us writers give away the days and years and decades...

[The Void Which Binds] actual but unaccessible presence in our universe is one of the prime causes for our species elaborating myth and religion, for our stubborn, blind belief in extrasensory powers, in telepathy and...

Men who read a lot have a more sensitive disposition, added Fowler. […]I did not know what to say to this.Maybe reading is a sort of curse is all I mean, concluded Fowler. Maybe it’s...

I loved you backward and forward in time. I loved you beyond boundaries of time and space.

The words sounded like a mournful incantation.

Eagles are extinct,” grumbled Morpurgo. “Perhaps they should have attacked the sky. It betrayed them.

The day before the Queen’s Ball, Father had a visitor–a very young girl with literary aspirations, someone Lord Lytton had recommended visit Father and sent over–and while Father was explaining to her the enjoyment he...

You have to live to really know things, my love

It was as if they had climbed the last hill in creation.

The Great Change is when humankind accepts its role as part of the natural order of the universe instead of its role as a cancer

In such seconds of decision entire futures are made.

The life of a poet lies not merely in the finite language-dance of expression but in the nearly infinite combinations of perception and memory combined with the sensitivity to what is perceived and remembered.

I remember that day in early May after Le Vesconte’s and Private Pilkington’s brief joint burial service, one of the men suggested that we name the small spur of land where they were buried “Le...

When you’ve spent thirty years entering rooms filled with strangers you feel less pressure than when you’ve had only half that number of years of experience. You know what the room and the people in...

Pain is an interesting and off-putting thing. Few if any things in life concentrate our attention so completely and terribly, and few things are more boring to listen to or read about.

The Hegemony had known how to treat cancer, but most of the gene-tailoring knowledge and technology had been lost after the Fall.

… you “met” this Moneta … or whatever her real name is … in her past but your future … in a meeting that’s still to come

The Chinese poet George Wu … recorded on his comlog: “Poets are the mad midwives to reality. They see not what is, nor what can be, but what must become.” Later, on his last disk...

I wish we had the technology to fight God on an equal basis. To beard him in his den. To fight back for all of the injustices heaped on humanity. To allow him to alter...

Pain and darkness have been our lot since the Fall of Man. But there must be some hope that we can rise to a higher level … that consciousness can evolve to a plane more...

There is a fullness and calmness there which can come only from knowing pain.

Sol wanted to know how any ethical system – much less a religion so indomitable that it had survived every evil mankind could throw at it – could flow from a command from God for...

No lifetime is long enough for those who wish to create, Raul. Or for those who simply wish to understand themselves and their lives. It is, perhaps, the curse of being human, but also a...

but you insult all these actions in which you do not honour arête. Eating? Eat as if it was your last meal. Prepare the food as if there were no more food! Sacrifices to the...

There would be no more offerings. Not this day. Not any day. Humankind had suffered enough for its love of gods, its long search for God. He thought of the many centuries in which his...

… all good things beyond sleep come precisely because we defy gravity while we live.

… pain has been with him since birth – the universe’s gift to a poet …

… primitive times had required primitive obedience, that later generations evolved to the point where parents offered themselves as sacrifice – as in the dark knights of the ovens which pocked old earth history –...

Francis Crozier believes in nothing. Life is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. It has no plan, no point, no hidden mysteries that make up for the oh-so-obvious miseries and banalities. Nothing he has learned...

I could not do this, I realized, if I were immortal. This degree of love of life and of one another is granted, I saw for once and for ever, not to immortals, but to...

Shut up,” I said.

I desperately want to talk to her now. I want to ask her who it was who so deftly crafted and shaped the legend that was our love.

His imagination was always more real than the reality of daily life.

The whole planet reeks of mysticism without revelation.

Who are you, Hockenberry, to thwart Fate and defy the Will of the Gods?I am me, Thomas Hockenberry. I am fed up with these power-addled thugs who call themselves gods.

If I should die,” said I to myself, “I have left no immortal work behind me – nothing to make my friends proud of my memory – but I have lov’d the principle of beauty...

In the beginning was the Word. Then came the fucking word processor. Then came the thought processor. Then came the death of literature. And so it goes.