You're A Wicked Man." "thank You. It's

I Enjoy It Too Much - Even If I Knew I'd Never Get A Book Published, I Would Still Write. I Enjoy The Experience Of Getting Thoughts And Ideas And Plots And Characters Organised Into This Narrative Framework.

What Is Any Achievement, However Great It Was, Once Time Itself Is Dead?

If You Have Any Helpful Suggestions I'd Be Pleased To Hear Them. If All You Can Do Is Make Snide Insinuations Then It Would Probably Benefit All Concerned If You Bestowed The Fruits Of Your Prodigious Wit On Someone With The Spare Time To Give Them The Consideration They Doubtless Deserve.

I've Always Loved Scotland, And I'm Not A Huge Fan Of Big Cities, To Be Honest. I Like Them To Dip Into For A Bit, But I'm Not Sure I Would Want To Live In One Again.

"i Think I Know The Real Reason." "which Is?" "alcohol In The Dust Clouds. Goddamn Stuff Is Everywhere. Any Lousy Species Ever Invents The Telescope And The Spectroscope And Starts Looking In Between The Stars, What Do They Find?" He Knocked The Glass On The Table. "loads Of Stuff, But Much Of It Alcohol." He Drank From The Glass. "humanoids Are The Galaxy's Way Of Trying To Get Rid Of All That Alcohol."