...now I'm a spent firework; but at least I've been a firework.
Only professional diplomats, inveterate idiots and women view diplomacy as a long-term substitute for war.
Secrets affect you more than you’d think. You lie to keep them hidden. You steer talk away from them. You worry someone’ll discover yours and tell the world. You think you are in charge of the secret, but isn’t it the secret who’s actually using you?
Probably in a parallel universe not far from here, I'm working for Nintendo.
One fine day a predatory world shall consume itself.
One's ribs shouldn't be prison bars.
War may be an auction for countries. For soldiers it's a lottery.
Mother used to say escape is never further than the nearest book.
Trees're always a relief, after people.
History admits no rules; only outcomes.
Faith, the least exclusive club on Earth, has the craftiest doorman. Every time I've stepped through its wide-open doorway, I find myself stepping out on the street again.
She has to lose her pre-Copernican view of a universe revolving around herself.
The act of memory is an act of ghostwriting.
I recently bought a cat, but took it back a day later because our personalities clashed.
If you show someone something you've written, you give them a sharpened stake, lie down in your coffin, and say, ‘When you’re ready’.
The body is the outermost layer of the mind.
If war's first victim is truth, its second is clerical efficiency.
If I want to act relaxed, it's going to take all my cunning, skill, and concentration.
To enslave an individual troubles your consciences, Archivist, but to enslave a clone is no more troubling than owning the latest six-wheeler ford, ethically. Because you cannot discern our differences, you assume we have none. But make no mistake: even same-stem fabricants cultured in the same wombtank are as singular as snowflakes.
Freedom!- is the fatuous jingle of our civilization, but only those deprived of it have the barest inkling re: what the stuff actually is.
I’m scared of the future. I’m scared of the past. I’m nervous at the moment.
Good moods’re as fragile as eggs...Bad moods’re as fragile as bricks.
Italians give their city sexes, and they all agree that the sex for a particular city is quite correct, but none of them can explain why. I love that. London's middle-aged and male, respectably married but secretly gay.
Peace, though beloved of our Lord, is a cardinal virtue only if your neighbors share your conscience.
Hate eats the hater the way ogres eat little boys.
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