Of all my verse, like not a single line; But like my title, for it is not mine. That title from a better man I stole: Ah, how much better, had I stol'n the whole!

The world is so full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.

Let first the onion flourish there, Rose among roots, the maiden-fair, Wine-scented and poetic soul Of the capacious salad bowl.

The friendly cow all red and white, I love with all my heart: She gives me cream with all her might, To eat with apple-tart.

That first novel of mine, Non-Stop, is directly attributable to Heinlein. His 'Common Sense' seemed to me such a good story, but bereft of any human feelings. …

Jejunis nil scribo: meum post pocula si quis legerit, hic sapiet. Sed magis hic sapiet, si dormiet: et putet ista somnia missa sibi.

I've always run by the hierarchy of 'If not funny, interesting. If not interesting, hot. If not hot, bizarre. If not bizarre, break something.'