Practically All Sf Is Trash.

My Pessimism (which, By The Way, Is Far From Absolute) Originated With My Despair In The Lack Of Perfection To Be Found In Human Nature. I Was Attempting In My Successive Books To Show The Inevitable Handicap Of The Human Condition.

He Who Has Had, Has Been, But He Who Hasn't Been, Has Been Had.

Everything Is Explicable In The Terms Of The Behavior Of A Small Child.

Cannibals Prefer Those Who Have No Spines.

The Age-old Faith Of Lovers And Poets In The Power Of Love, Stronger Than Death, That Finis Vitae Sed Non Amoris, Is A Lie, Useless And Not Even Funny.