Quotes from Samuel R. Delany

Small breasts rose beneath the laces of her vest, steady as breath.

Is it only an hour, he wondered, that encompassed three people's four orgasms? Now I know why, though foreplay can be delineated in all its fascinating and psychotropic detail, a poet must use asterisks or blank paper for orgasmic mechanics that satisfying: they open to something so wide you can now understand why, when sex is that good, you may say, "The sex is not the most important part," and feel these words analog some shadow of truth.

Neurotics proceed with delusions of grandeur. Napoleon Bonaparte take the lead. Jesus Christ bring up the rear." The ships on the right moved forward now in diamond formation. "Stimulate severe depression, noncommunicative, with repressed hostility.

Know then this journey seeks to define ends, seeks shores where farther oceans start; caged by the over-muscled heart, we are trapped in that bright moment where we learned our doom, but still we struggle, knowing, too, that freedom is imposed the very moment when the trap springs...

In a hundred years they may both be sciences. Fine. But today a person who learns the rules of art well is a little rarer than the person who learns the rules of science. Also

I had a mother, I had a father. Now I don't remember their names. I don't remember mine. In another room, two people are sleeping who are nearer to me by how many years and thousands of miles; for whom, in this terrifying light, I would almost admit love.

held out for arbitrary Thursdays. He

The clean, clear ending that society keeps looking for is impossible to find.

In a hundred years they may both be sciences. Fine. But today a person who learns the rules of art well is a little rarer than the person who learns the rules of science.

Waiting here, away from the terrifying weaponry, out of the halls of vapor and light, beyond holland and into the hills, I have come to [to wound the autumnal city].

I've thought, maybe: It's not the season that changes. It's us. The whole city shifts, turns, rearranges itself. All the time. And rearranges us…

SAMUEL DELANY'S DHALGREN IS a prose-city, a labyrinth, a vast construct the reader learns to enter by any one of a multiplicity of doors.

What were you in a mental hospital for?" "Depression. But it was a long time ago.

I think of myself as somebody who is interested in the differences, the differences between straight society and gay, the differences between male and female, but all of those presuppose a set of similarities on which those differences have to be marked out. Beginnings and endings are the hardest parts for thinkers who utilize such structures.

In order to dismantle such a discourse we must begin with the realization that desire is never "outside all social constraint." Desire may be outside one set of constraints or another; but social constraints are what engender desire; and, one way or another, even at its most apparently catastrophic, they contour desire's expression.

Rhythm is the only thing secure. In this darkness, rising, I recall the Pacific stars. This ritual ascendance goes on in a city that has erased them and blurred its sun out altogether. Iron Wolf has something. I want it without the bother of definitions. The dangerous illumination, the light in the exploding eye, is not for this other city.

The history of science fiction tends to be the history of its editors.

mean, you don't go around thinking about yourself by your own name, do you? Nobody does—unless somebody calls to you by it, or asks you what it is. I haven't been around people who know me for…for a while now.

Huh?—well, in these big … Eh, with blood … Eh … blood. The murder victims' blood. That's pretty—you know—grim.

I don't know why he's doin' it. Don't expect I ever will. But it sure is something, huh?

There is so much knowledge available today that there can be no such thing anymore as a classical education that we can expect more than a relatively few people to share.

She was...that's the whole entirety.

Eskiden eÄŸlenceliydi. Revueltalar? özlüyorum, bakirelerin boynuzlar?n üzerine at?l???n? ve havada dönerek terli s?rtlar?n?n üzerine düÅŸüÅŸlerini ve kuma çak?l??lar?n?! Ä°nsanoÄŸlunun bir tarz? vard?, yavrum! Sizin de olabilir ama ÅŸimdilik cazibeniz daha olgunlaÅŸmam??.

An individual, a thing apart from its environment, and apart from all things in that environment; an individual was a type of thing for which symbols were inadequate, and so names were invented. I am invented.