Quotes from Greg Egan

The whole idea of a creator tears itself apart. A universe with conscious beings either finds itself in the dust … or it doesn't. It either makes sense of itself on its own terms, as a self-contained whole … or not at all. There never can, and never will be, Gods.

Where was the line? Between self-transformation so great as to turn a longing for death into childlike wonder … and death itself, and the handing on of the joys and burdens he could no longer shoulder to someone new?

It was the kind of behavior that could only occur when people had been trapped for thousands of years, staring at the same sights, fetishizing everything around them, spiraling down toward the full-blown insanity of religion. You didn't need gates and barbed wire to make a prison. Familiarity could pin you to the ground, far more efficiently.

How do you know which parts of the world are you, in the polises?' 'Are there citizens in Konishi who eat music?' 'Is not having a body like falling all the time, without moving?

There's nothing worse than a label to cement people's loyalties.

I was recruited by the dead,' Zak said. 'Not in any rush to join them in their silence, but from the urgent need to understand what they might have thought and done that could survive them, that could speak across the ages, that could be continued even now.

The future has always been determined. What else could affect human actions, other than each individual's — unique and complex — inheritance and past experience? Who we are decides what we do — and what greater 'freedom' could anyone demand? If 'choice' wasn't grounded absolutely in cause and effect, what would decide its outcome? Meaningless random glitches from quantum noise in the brain.

There was no truth in anything he said, anything he believed. It was all just an expression of his own needs.

Immortality would have been meaningless, trapped in a "machine" with a finite number of possible states; in a finite time he would have exhausted the list of every possible thing he could be. Only the promise of eternal growth made sense of eternal life.

He let himself surrender for a moment to a visceral sense of identity which drowned out all his pale mental images of optical processors, all his abstract reflections on the software's approximations and short-cuts. This body didn't want to evaporate. This body didn't want to bail out. It didn't much care that there was another – "more real" – version of itself, elsewhere. It wanted to retain its wholeness. It wanted to endure.

If you'd managed to force it open, you would have made a direct path between the interior of the Peerless and the void, which is something we try to discourage.

Science has been abused for every conceivable purpose under the sun. Which is all the more reason to deliver the power it grants to as many people as possible, as rapidly as possible, instead of leaving it in the hands of a few. It is not a reason to retreat into fantasy – to declare: knowledge is a cultural artifact, nothing is universally true, only mysticism and obfuscation and ignorance will save us.

Maybe it seems strange to you, all the trouble we're taking to catch a glimpse of what you're going to see in close-up, so soon. It's hard to explain: I don't think it's jealousy, or even impatience. Just a need for independence.

Inhabiting this universe is not a cultural prerogative, or a lifestyle decision. And I don't have to forgive or forget a single act of enslavement, theft, imperialism, or patriarchy, in order to be a physicist – or to approach the subject with whatever intellectual tools I need. Every scientist sees further by standing on a pile of corpses – and frankly, I don't care what kind of genitals they had, what language they spoke, or what the colour of their skin was.

Everyone had to carve a life out of the same legacy: half universal, half particular; half sharpened by relentless natural selection, half softened by the freedom of chance.

Twelve thousand years after walking the plank, Rakesh woke on the floor of his tent. He was lying face-down on a blue and gold sleeping mat; he drew in a deep breath to savour the rich scent of its fibres. This was the tent he'd carried with him on all his travels on Shab-e-Noor, and it remained with him wherever he went.

Only the promise of eternal growth made sense of eternal life. Kate

Had David Hawthorne, by another name, achieved the immortality he'd paid for? Or had he died somewhere along the way? There was no answer. The most that could be said, at any moment, was that someone existed who knew – or believed – that they'd once been David Hawthorne. And so Peer had made the conscious decision to let that be enough.

Detective Segel, the evidence shows that you experienced a penile erection when the defendant opened fire. Would you describe that as an appropriate response?

Paul counted – and for argument's sake, tried to defend his own perspective, tried to imagine the outside world actually cycling through fragments of time drawn from ten distinct periods.

You don't take a traveler for a partner if you hope that the world will always stay the same. You do it because you can't quite break away, yourself, but you can't live without the promise of change hanging over you every day. That's what the border means, for a lot of people. The promise of change they'd never be able to make any other way.

What would you have done in the old days?' he asked. 'If you'd been piloting a gnat with this kind of damage?' 'Flown it back to a workshop in the Peerless for repairs.' 'And if you couldn't use the engines until the repairs were completed?' Tarquinia said, 'Then I'd call someone for a tow. See how a lifetime of experience has prepared me for this moment?

Any cube can be found on the lawn of the White House.

All that it took to destroy something, here, was to fail to keep track of it.