This fell sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest.
No," I said finally. "Slowness in Answering," she said into the handheld. "When's the last time you slept?" "1940" I said promptly, which is the problem with Quickness in Answering.
I learned everything I know about plot from Dame Agatha (Christie).
I have never written anything in one draft, not even a grocery list, although I have heard from friends that this is actually possible.
I have great faith in the future of books - no matter what form they may take - and of science fiction.
Why do only the awful things become fads? I thought. Eye-rolling and Barbie and bread pudding. Why never chocolate cheesecake or thinking for yourself?
And every place and time an author writes about is imaginary, from Oz to Raymond Chandler's L. A. to Dickens's London.
Tobacco, coffee, alcohol, hashish, prussic acid, strychnine, are weak dilutions; the surest poison is time. This cup which nature puts to our lips, has a wonderful virtue, surpassing that of any other draught. It opens the senses, adds power, fills us with exalted dreams, which we call hope, love, ambition, science; especially it creates a craving for larger draughts of itself.
Though a country be sundered, hills and rivers endure; And spring comes green again to trees and grasses Where petals have been shed like tears And lonely birds have sung their grief. . . . After the war-fires of three months, One message from home is worth a ton of gold. . . . I stroke my white hair. It has grown too thin To hold the hairpins any more.
Whoever finishes a revolution only halfway, digs his own grave.
Unlike a lot of people, I don't feel powerless. I know I can do something. But anyone can do something, it's not about being special. It's about deciding to do it - to dive into work for peace and justice and care for everybody on the planet.