The engine died and then the doors swung open.
Your world is made of your memories, and your memories are given to you by your world. The whispering voice of happenstance is always in our ears. 'This is the world. This is the way things are. Look. Pay attention. Remember.'
All programmers are playwrights and all computers are lousy actors.
There is nothing more dreadful than imagination without taste.
No.
To repeat what others have said, requires education; to challenge it, requires brains.
I heard them shouting through the muffling canvas of the bag, and then I was being impersonally hauled to my feet by my wrists, my arms wrenched up behind my back, my shoulders screaming.