I'll Grant The Random Access To My

No One Reads; If Someone Does Read, He Doesn't Understand; If He Understands, He Immediately Forgets.

Practically All Sf Is Trash.

The Only Writers Who Have Any Peace Are The Ones Who Don't Write. And There Are Some Like That. They Wallow In A Sea Of Possibilities. To Express A Thought, You First Have To Limit It, And That Means Kill It. Every Word I Speak Robs Me Of A Thousand Others, And Every Line I Write Means Giving Up Another.

...it Is Easy Not To Believe In Monsters, Considerably More Difficult To Escape Their Dread And Loathsome Clutches.

Psychoanalysis Provides Truth In An Infantile, That Is, A Schoolboy Fashion: We Learn From It, Roughly And Hurriedly, Things That Scandalize Us And Thereby Command Our Attention. It Sometimes Happens, And Such Is The Case Here, That A Simplification Touching Upon The Truth, But Cheaply, Is Of No More Value Than A Lie. Once Again We Are Shown The Demon And The Angel, The Beast And The God Locked In Manichean Embrace, And Once Again Man Has Been Pronounced, By Himself, Not Culpable.