My Google-fu Is Strong.

We Speak Now Or I Do, And Others Do. You've Never Spoken Before. You Will. You'll Be Able To Say How The City Is A Pit And A Hill And A Standard And An Animal That Hunts And A Vessel On The Sea And The Sea And How We Are Fish In It, Not Like The Man Who Swims Weekly With Fish But The Fish With Which He Swims, The Water, The Pool. I Love You, You Light Me, Warm Me, You Are Suns. You Have Never Spoken Before.

Old Stories Would Tell How Weavers Would Kill Each Other Over Aesthetic Disagreements, Such As Whether It Was Prettier To Destroy An Army Of A Thousand Men Or To Leave It Be, Or Whether A Particular Dandelion Should Or Should Not Be Plucked. For A Weaver, To Think Was To Think Aesthetically. To Act - To Weave - Was To Bring About More Pleasing Patterns. They Did Not Eat Physical Food: They Seemed To Subsist On The Appreciation Of Beauty.

I Think The Role Of Science Fiction Is Not At All To Prophesy. I Think It Is To Tell Interesting, Vivid, Strange Stories That At Their Best Are Dreamlike Intense Versions And Visions Of Today.

There Are Only So Many Ways To Experience Pain. There Are An Almost Limitless Number Of Ways To Inflict It, But The Pain Itself, Initially Vividly Distinct In All Its Specifications, Becomes, Inevitably, Just Pain.

Subby Subby Subby," Whispered Goss. "keep Those Little Bells On Your Slippers As Quiet As You Can. Sparklehorse And Starpink Have Managed To Creep Out Of Apple Palace Past All The Monkeyfish, But If We're Silent As Tiny Goblins We Can Surprise Them And Then All Frolic Off Together In The Meadow Of Happy Kites.