The people of each country get more like the people of every other country. They have no character, no beauty, no ideals, no culture-nothing, nothing.”…
“Everything’s getting gray, and it’ll be grayer.

With their ship, the Horse, They ply the sea of grass, They stalk the walking mountains, With stones they make their beds.

i hate people who hate

The insistent drums were an unwelcome reminder of the existence of another world, wholly autonomous, with its own necessities and patterns. The message they were beating out, over and over, was for her; it was saying, not precisely that she did not exist but rather that it did not matter whether she existed or not, that her presence was of no consequence to the rest of the cosmos. It was a sensation that suddenly paralyzed her with dread. There had never been any question of her “mattering”; it went without saying that she mattered, because she was important to herself. But what was the part of her to which she mattered?

He awoke, opened his eye. The room meant very little to him; he was too deeply immersed in the non-being from which he had just come. If he had not the energy to ascertain his position in time and space, he also lacked the desire. ... In utter comfort, utter relaxation he lay absolutely still for a while, and then sank back into on the the light momentary sleeps that occur after a long, profound one.

The sky hides the night behind it, and shelters the people beneath from the horror that lies above.