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'I distrusted him from the start! Still, who could imagine such protean depravity?' Bunderwal, the supercargo, concurred. 'Cugel, while plausible, nonetheless is a bit of a scoundrel.'
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Enough of this intolerable inanity! I propose that such loquacity passes beyond the scope of the nuisance and over the verge of turpitude.
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I worked for half a cent a word. I'm not a fast writer to begin with, so for the first few years I had do other things.
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I do read books. I suppose it's more or less the same thing, but at least I'm alone and I'm an individual. I can stop anytime I want, which I frequently do.
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'It is simple dog-eat-dog,' said Waylock. It’s basic battle for survival, fiercer and more brutal than ever before in the history of man. You have blinded yourself; you subscribe to false theories; you are permeated with your obsession-not only you but all of us. If we faced the facts of existence, our palliatories would be less crowded.'
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I just wrote what I felt like writing since they seemed to sell.
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'It sees that you are wrong, that you are guided by faith indeed.'The Demie fell silent. His face seemed to stiffen.'Are these not facts?' asked Joaz. 'How do you reconcile them with your faith?The Demie said mildly, 'Facts can never be reconciled with faith.'
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It seems to limit you; when you're working in an office, you're a creature in a small cell under somebody's supervision and surveillance.
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The merchant voiced an inarticulate protest. Glystra glared at him, 'Do you think I trust you?''Trust?' said the merchant with a puzzled expression. 'Trust? What word is that?' And he tested it several times more.
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There are no absolute certainties in this universe. A man must try to whip order into a yelping pack of probabilities, and uniform success is impossible.
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We are sufficiently at the mercy of machines, Roger; if our music must necessarily be mechanical, then it is time for us to throw in the sponge, and abandon all hope for the future of humanity.
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I was a carpenter for a time and everybody watches what you do.
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It had been suggested to her that the flaw lay not in the universe but in herself.
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You emphasize morality. But the ultimate basis of morality is survival. What promotes survival is good; what induces mortifaction is bad.
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I was an omnivore at reading, so that everything I ever read contributed.
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'Tell me, then! What is so important?''Your life! I could not bear that you should lose it!''I feel much the same. Say on.'
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Then there was Clark Ashton Smith, who wrote for Weird Tales and who had a wild imagination. He wasn't a very talented writer, but his imagination was wonderful.
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What is peace? Balance three iron skewers tip to tip, one upon the other; at the summit, emplace and egg, so that it too poises static in mid-air, and there you have the condition of peace in this world of men.
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I never made lots of money at it, but I sold enough.
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A reader is not supposed to be aware that someone's written the story. He's supposed to be completely immersed, submerged in the environment.
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There can be no doubt as to the facts as I have stated them. Orthodoxy derives from this axiomatic foundation, and the two systems are mutually reinforcing: hence each is doubly validated.
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Since we are not permitted to act, we are obliged to know.
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The colour, noise and festivity failed to elevate Carfilhiot’s mood; in fact-so he told himself-never had he witnessed so much pointless nonsense.
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Now was the present, now was the time containing that sweet union of carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, spirit, will and imagination named Nancy.