Odd That The Brain Could Function On

I Am Ubik. Before The Universe Was, I Am. I Made The Suns. I Made The Worlds. I Created The Lives And The Places They Inhabit; I Move Them Here, I Put Them There. They Go As I Say, Then Do As I Tell Them. I Am The Word And My Name Is Never Spoken, The Name Which No One Knows. I Am Called Ubik, But That Is Not My Name. I Am. I Shall Always Be.

The Will To Believe Chases Out The Rational Mind, Whenever And Wherever The Two Come Into Conflict.

I'm Tired And I Want To Rest; I Want To Get Out Of This And Go Lie Down Somewhere, Off Where It's Dark And No One Speaks. Forever.

It Did Not Seem Possible That Wendy Wright Had Been Born Out Of Blood And Internal Organs Like Other People. In Proximity To Her He Felt Himself To Be A Squat, Oily, Sweating, Uneducated Nurt Whose Stomach Rattled And Whose Breath Wheezed. Near Her He Became Aware Of The Physical Mechanisms Which Kept Him Alive; Within Him Machinery, Pipes And Valves And Gas-compressors And Fan Belts Had To Chug Away At A Losing Task, A Labor Ultimately Doomed. Seeing Her Face, He Discovered That His Own Consisted Of A Garish Mask; Noticing Her Body Made Him Feel Like A Low-class Wind-up Toy.

The Real Origin Of Science Fiction Lay In The Seventeeth-century Novels Of Exploration In Fabulous Lands. Therefore Jules Verne's Story Of Travel To The Moon Is Not Science Fiction Because They Go By Rocket But Because Of Where They Go. It Would Be As Much Science Fiction If They Went By Rubber Band.