Even In My Side Of The World,

I'm From Out Of Town," He Said Breezily. This Was True. He'd Never Been Within A Hundred Light-years Of The Place.

Anyway, You Can't Leave Her Like That. You Can't Do That To The Woman. She Doesn't Deserve It; Nobody Does. You Don't Belong To Her And She Doesn't Belong To You, But You're Both Part Of Each Other; If She Got Up And Left Now And Walked Away And You Never Saw Each Other Again For The Rest Of Your Lives, And You Lived An Ordinary Waking Life For Another Fifty Years, Even So On Your Deathbed You Would Still Know She Was Part Of You.

Experience As Well As Common Sense Indicated That The Most Reliable Method Of Avoiding Self-extinction Was Not To Equip Oneself With The Means To Accomplish It In The First Place.

The Trouble With Writing Fiction Is That It Has To Make Sense, Whereas Real Life Doesn't.

...[changers] Were A Threat To Identity, A Challenge To The Individualism Even Of Those They Were Never Likely To Impersonate. It Had Nothing To Do With Souls Or Physical Or Spiritual Possession; It Was, As The Idirans Well Understood, The Behavouristic Copying Of Another Which Revolted. Individuality, The Thing Which Most Humans Held More Precious Than Anything Else About Themselves, Was Somehow Cheapened By The Ease With Which A Changer Could Ignore It As A Limitation And Use It As A Disguise.