Ursula K. Le Guin
We all have forests on our minds. Forests unexplored, unending. Each one of us gets lost in the forest, every night, alone. — Ursula K. Le Guin
Category: Science Fiction
George Orwell
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. ― George Orwell, 1984 ( Plume, January 1, 2014) Originally published June 8th 1949.
Harlan Ellison
Like a wind crying endlessly through the universe, Time carries away the names and the deeds of conquerors and commoners alike. And all that we were, all that remains, is in the memories of those who cared we came this way for a brief moment. ― Harlan Ellison
Kurt Vonnegut
Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why. ― Kurt Vonnegut
Alexandra Bracken
I look at you, and I just love you, and it terrifies me. It terrifies me what I would do for you. — Alexandra Bracken, Never Fade ( Hyperion Book CH; First Edition, November 5, 2013)
Ray Bradbury
I live in a well. I live like smoke in the well. Like vapor in a stone throat. I don’t move. I don’t do anything but wait. Overhead I see the cold stars of night and morning, and I see the sun. And sometimes I sing old songs of this world when it was young.… Continue reading Ray Bradbury
Don DeLillo
It was the time of year, the time of day, for a small insistent sadness to pass into the texture of things. Dusk, silence, iron chill. Something lonely in the bone. — Don DeLillo, White Noise (Viking, 1985)
Neil Gaiman
For love is no part of the dreamworld. Love belongs to Desire, and Desire is always cruel. ― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 2: The Doll’s House. (Vertigo; Gph edition. March 10, 1999) Originally published June 1st 1990.
Kurt Vonnegut
And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep. — Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five. (Delacorte 1969)
Ben Whishaw
Sixsmith. I climb the steps of the Scot monument every morning and all becomes clear. Wish I could make you see this brightness. Don’t worry, all is well. All is so perfectly, damnably well. I understand now that boundaries between noise and sound are conventions. All boundaries are conventions, waiting to be transcended. One may… Continue reading Ben Whishaw
The Vale of Soul-Making 