Quotes About Author

Proust is long-winded, precious, and a bit of an old woman

Claude Royet-Journoud

For innovators, understanding the job is to understand what consumers care most about in that moment of trying to make progress.

Indomie noodles represent the process by which poverty, through innovation, can become prosperity.

That's a hallmark of good theory: it dispenses its advice in "if-then" statements.

we biased ourselves toward resources over the processes. It is what I described in the previous chapter as something parents do, and it's an easy mistake to make.

But differentiation loses its meaning when the features and functionality have exceeded what the market demands.

for a Christmas present. They read it just after they had hung up their stockings before one of the big fireplaces in their house. Afterward, they learned it

Good man, Thorne, thought Adams.

Thousands of listeners listening in on the random thoughts of random time and space listening in for clues, for hints, for leads.

We want you to sign a petition," said Mrs. Jellicoe.

Clifford D. Simak did not dedicate his books very often, but he dedicated this one—to his dog. He loved dogs, and he made them prominent features of a number of his stories—and in this case he made it clear that the dog in question, Scootie, was the model for Nathaniel, who can be found in "Census," the third episode in this book, and who became legend to succeeding generations of dogs.

Clifford D. Simak

although myth may be romanticized and woefully short of fact, it must, by definition, have some foundation in lost happenings.

Writing is a journey with no maps, no ending, no guides (except charlatans) and often no point. Still we do it.

Lincoln replied:There is a difference between secession against the Constitution and in favor of the Constitution.

The great grey beast February had eaten Harvey Swick alive.

He was to be their page, their book, the vessel for their autobiographies. A book of blood. A book made of blood. A book written in blood.

Meaning is always a latecomer. Beauty and music seduce us first; later ashamed of our own sensuality, we insist on meaning.

Among his memories of the whole and the human, sharpest was that of Decker.

He stood dressed in voluminous robes of thrice-burned silk (the blackest, most portentous; the silk of all melancholias) and studied the lightless waters of the Izabella as the barge sped on.

He was not happier at his mother's nipple than in that ring of demons.

What marked this place as another Dominion was the people in the streets outside, some human, many not, all retreating from the wind or the commotions it carried.

Somebody's voice rose in prayer, another simply sobbed. What grief was this? Not his passing, surely. He was too minor to earn such lamentation.