Our view of reality is only a view, not reality itself.

Bored with obvious reality, I find my fascination in transforming it into a subjective point of view.

The troops and their ladies had first drunk champagne. There were also remains of sandwiches, and I stepped on one, which I think was either cucumber or watercress. I scraped it off on the curbing, left it there for germs. I'll tell you this, though: No germ is going to leave the Solar System eating sissy stuff like that.
Plutonium! Now there's the stuff to put hair on a microbe's chest.

Marina wouldn't want to be remembered because she dead. She would want to be remembered because she's good.

My brother and I were able to fantasize far more extravagantly about our parents' tastes and desires, their aspirations and their vices, by scanning their bookcases than by snooping in their closest. Their selves were on their shelves.

If you truly love a book, you should sleep with it, write in it, read aloud from it, and fill its pages with muffin crumbs.