Some say that as many as 10 percent of human beings are sociopaths.
Directors of the charitable foundation were interested in their benefactor’s bank accounts.
To create good fiction, you have to like people enough to want to write about the human condition – but close yourself alone in a room for a large part of your life to get the job done right.
Earth’s creatures other than humankind. Their lives are short and hard and ever shadowed by threat, and they endure periods of hunger when in their foraging they find nothing, and they persevere through sickness without understanding what it is they suffer, and they have seen others devoured by something bigger with sharper teeth. Yet in spite of all they have to fear, they sleep as if they are safe when unconscious, and they wake to each new day with enthusiasm.
Which would not surprise me. But a role in what?
Some are street thugs who will kill you for the contents of your wallet or merely for the thrill of it.
Family is the glue that holds the world together, even when it’s not a family of one blood.
Jason Bookman, right hand to Parable founder, Dorian Purcell, and his pilot died today in the crash of a helicopter owned by the company.
We all arrive in this world with a ticket out of it, but somehow, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, we remain convinced that those we care about will be with us for a long ride.
They weren’t keen on sending someone to dispose of his clothing and other personal effects.
Others are among the most elite and privileged groups in society.
The tape runs out. The recorder clicks off automatically.
I admit that I don’t understand art that isn’t in the least representational. But I feel no need to understand it.
But the optimist, unlike the pessimist, believes that life has meaning, that there is something to learn from every adversity, and even that the absurdity of such an excess of misfortune will likely seem at least somewhat amusing after enough time has passed. That is why, years after they have lost everything, optimists are frequently richer and happier than ever, while pessimists often had nothing to lose in the first place.
All the windows were fogged over now. Neither Walt nor Lem tried to clear the misted glass. Unable to see out of the car, confined to its humid and claustrophobic interior, they seemed to be cut off from the real world, adrift in time and space, a condition that was oddly conducive to the consid eration of the wondrous and outrageous acts of creation that genetic engineering made possible.
If envious humanity sought godlike power and fell from grace, it might be true that some race before us did the same, that we share this broken world with predators who were once beings of light and promise, but transformed themselves into creatures that worship the outer dark and wish the world to be one vast graveyard.
Megan Bookman’s.
Among those items were a hundred and six one-hour audiocassette tapes.
Charles Mainway.
I’d been slowly robbed of my sense that I lived in a culture that still valued reason above unreason, civility above rote invective, which had once been the case.