“They lay together in a sheltered place among the ruins of Brasilia while deathbeams from Chinese EMVs played like blue searchlights on broken ceramic walls.”

“In the beginning was the Word. Then came the fucking word processor. Then came the thought processor. Then came the death of literature. And so it goes.”

“Prison always has been a good place for writers, killing, as it does, the twin demons of mobility and diversion”

“... you "met" this Moneta ... or whatever her real name is ... in her past but your future ... in a meeting that's still to come”

“Tyrena did not laugh again but her smile slashed upward in a twist of green lips. Martin, Martin, Martin, she said, the population of literate people has been declining steadily since Gutenbergs da...”

“In such seconds of decision entire futures are made.”

“Protesters are still on the fringes like satellites, revolving around the system. But prophets and poets lead us into a new world, beyond simply yelling at the old one.”

“Why do I write? Out of fear. Out of fear that the memory of the people I write about might go lost. Out of fear that the memory of myself might get lost. Or even just to be shielded by a story, to ...”

“They say that it is always poets that die in wars, and I never got over a sense of being in the trenches.”