Well," He Sighed To No

Something In Your Voice Tells Me We Approach The Question Of Remuneration.

"don't You Have A Religion?" Dorolow Asked Horza. "yes," He Replied, Not Taking His Eyes Away From The Screen On The Wall Above The End Of The Main Mess-room Table. "my Survival."

It Was A Truism That All Civilizations Were Basically Neurotic Until They Made Contact With Everybody Else And Found Their Place Within The Ever-changing Meta-civilisation Of Other Beings, Because, Until Then, During The Stage When They Honestly Believed They Might Be Entirely Alone In Existence, All Solo Societies Were Possessed Of Both An Inflated Sense Of Their Own Importance And A Kind Of Existential Terror At The Sheer Scale And Apparent Emptiness Of The Universe.

But It Was Pointless, It Was Stupid; He Thought About Thoughtless Things. If I Were A Seabird . . . But How Could You Be A Seabird? If You Were A Seabird Your Brain Would Be Tiny And Stupid And You Would Love Half-rotted Fish Guts And Tweaking The Eyes Out Of Little Grazing Animals; You Would Know No Poetry And You Could Never Appreciate Flying As Fully As The Human On The Ground Yearning To Be You. If You Wanted To Be A Seabird You Deserved To Be One.

Half The Fun Of Writing A Novel Is Finding Out From Other People Later On What You Actually Meant.