So must one be resigned to being a clock that measures the passage of time, now out of order, now repaired, and whose mechanism generates despair and love as soon as its maker sets it going?
Are we to grow used to the idea that every man relives ancient torments, which are all the more profound because they grow comic with repetition? That human existence should repeat itself, well and good, but that it should repeat itself like a hackneyed tune, or a record a drunkard keeps playing as he feeds coins into the jukebox Must I go on living here then, among the objects we both had touched, in the air she had breathed? In the name of what? In the hope of her return?
I hoped for nothing. And yet I lived in expectation. Since she had gone, that was all that remained. I did not know what achievements, what mockery, even what tortures still awaited me. I knew nothing, and I persisted in the faith that the time of cruel miracles was not past. People living at point C, being a point directly in between, are often given to wonder what's so great about point A that so many people from point B are so keen to get there, and what's so great about point B that so many people from point A are so keen to get there. They often wish that people would just once and for all work out where the hell they wanted to be.
It's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.
It can go anywhere in time and space and sometimes even where it's meant to go. And when it turns up, there's a bloke in it called The Doctor and there will be stuff wrong and he will do his best to sort it out and he will probably succeed 'cause he's awesome. Now sit down, shut up, and watch 'Blink'. Science fiction is central to everything we've ever done, and people who make fun of science fiction writers don't know what they're talking about. Nothing else - not fame, not power, not achievement for its own sake - can possible have the same lasting value.
For when your life is over, if you can say 'I have learned' and 'I have loved,' you will also be able to say 'I have been happy. It just changes forms. Fools are protected by more capable fools. I don't know why I keep shouting at them. Because every time you see them happy you remember how sad they're going to be. And it breaks your heart.
Because what's the point in them being happy now if they're going to be sad later. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?
The landmine is me. After the explosion, I spent the rest of the day putting pieces together.
Both are equally terrifying. Fantasy is something that couldn't happen - though often you only wish that it could. She has breasts that smile. I have yet to see how it fundamentally endangers us, even with the H-bomb lurking about. Science has given us more lives than it has taken; we must remember that.
The Shifting Realities of Philip K. Selected Literary and Philosophical Writings. It's made by lazy men trying to find easier ways to do something. Specialization is for insects. But the real universe is always one step beyond logic. We are in space.
We will be in space. Fear is the mind-killer.
Science fiction books are more than just their setting. When people read or talk about science fiction, they have a habit of getting bogged down in the details of the Too bad nobody thought to warn the people living on it. Put together a list of 50 must-read science fiction books and don't make (and that usually means trouble) and the always cheery apocalyptic fiction sub-genre .. I thought your selections were a fairly good smattering of 'real' science fiction.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. They've discovered they're a people.
And if we become extinct because we don't have a space program, it'll serve us right! What they really hate are lousy programmers.
These are people who destroy entire planets before lunch. Think of what they'll do to you. A cat, I am sure, could walk on a cloud without coming through. He or she is like a person who has put on full battle armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae. Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing.