He Who Truly Believes He Has A

Jake Was Close To Tears. In That Moment He Saw The World In Its True Light, As A Place Where Nothing Had Ever Been Any Good And Nothing Of Significance Done: No Art Worth A Second Look, No Philosophy Of The Slightest Appositeness, No Law But Served The State, No History That Gave An Inkling Of How It Had Been And What Had Happened. And No Love, Only Egotism, Infatuation And Lust.

Now And Then I Become Conscious Of Having The Reputation Of Being One Of The Great Drinkers, If Not One Of The Great Drunks, Of Our Time.

It Scored Right Away With Me By Being The Smooth, Fine-grained Sort, Not The Coarse Flaky, Dry-on-the-outside Rubbish Full Of Chunds Of Gut And Gristle To Testify To Its Authenticity.

[science Fiction Is] That Class Of Prose Narrative Treating Of A Situation That Could Not Arise In The World We Know, But Which Is Hypothesised On The Basis Of Some Innovation In Science Or Technology, Or Pseudo-science Or Pseudo-technology, Whether Human Or Extra-terrestrial In Origin. It Is Distinguished From Pure Fantasy By Its Need To Achieve Verisimilitude And Win The 'willing Suspension Of Disbelief' Through Scientific Plausibility.

The Ideal Of Brotherhood Of Man, The Building Of The Just City, Is One That Cannot Be Discarded Without Lifelong Feelings Of Disappointment And Loss. But, If We Are To Live In The Real World, Discard It We Must.