History Does Not So Much Repeat As

If You're Trying To Take A Roomful Of People By Surprise, It's A Lot Easier To Hit Your Targets If You Don't Yell Going Through The Door.

Bleeding Ulcers Run In My Family, We Give Them To Each Other.

I Know Girls Who Pine For It. They Like To Play Dress-up And Pretend Being Vor Ladies Of Old, Rescued From Menace By Romantic Vor Youths. For Some Reason They Never Play 'dying In Childbirth', Or 'vomiting Your Guts Out From The Red Dysentery', Or 'weaving Till You Go Blind And Crippled From Arthritis And Dye Poisoning', Or 'infanticide'. Well, They Do Die Romantically Of Disease Sometimes, But Somehow It's Always An Illness That Makes You Interestingly Pale And Everyone Sorry And Doesn't Involve Losing Bowel Control.

I Have A Catch-phrase To Describe My Plot-generation Technique -- 'what's The Worst Possible Thing I Can Do To These People?'

Any Man Can Be Kind When He Is Comfortable. I'd Always Thought Kindness A Trivial Virtue, Therefore. But When We Were Hungry, Thirsty, Sick, Frightened, With Our Deaths Shouting At Us, In The Heart Of Horror, You Were Still As Unfailingly Courteous As A Gentleman At Ease Before His Own Hearth.