Quote

The life of a poet lies not merely in the finite language-dance of expression but in the nearly infinite combinations of perception and memory combined with the sensitivity to what is perceived and remembered.

Dan Simmons

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Dan Simmons
Age: 76
Born: 1948
Born: April 4
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Peoria
Illinois
Language
Merely
Sensitivity
Life
Infinite
Perceived
Dance
Finite
Lies
Nearly
Poet
Combination
Expression
Remembered
Memories
Perception
Combinations
Lying
Memory
Combined

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How could anyone stay sane with entire lifetimes stored in one human mind?
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Lovemaking seems all too absurd when described.
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I think all the simple things can and do still work - holding your child's hand while walking across the street will do it. But we can hardly hear it for all the noise which has turned love into a cliche, and most people can't even hear John Lennon's All You Need Is Love anymore without wincing.
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If our god's work is to be done in our time, we must do it ourselves.
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Mobs have passions, not brains.
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Books ... were merely nodes in a near-infinite matrix of information that exists in four dimensions, evolving toward the idea of the concept of the approximation of the shadow of Truth vertically through time as well as longitudinally through knowledge.
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The future is like smoke from a burning forest, waiting for the wind of specific events and personal courage to blow the sparks and embers of reality this way or that.
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I now understand the need for faith - pure, blind, fly-in-the-face-of-reason faith - as a small life preserver in the wild and endless sea of a universe ruled by unfeeling laws and totally indifferent to the small, reasoning beings that inhabit it.
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Sometimes ... dreams are all that separate us from the machines.
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Words were like objects, making the idea more solid -- less a poisonous gas and more a ... cube of crystallized thought.
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Human beings have only that confusing mass of chemically driven neurological storage to rely on. They're all subjective and emotion-tinged. How can they trust any of their memories?
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The powerful have received their share of the world's attention even when their power has been shown as sheer evil. The victim's remain the faceless masses. Numbers. Mass graves. These monsters have fertilized our century with the mass graves of their victims and it is time that the powerless had names and faces -- and voices.
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Merely to live without a pain Is little gladness, little gain, Ah, welcome joy tho' mixt with grief-- The thorn-set flower that crowns the leaf.
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All of our lives are governed by a certain degree of faith in bullshit.
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Words are the light and sound of our existence, the heat lightning by which the night is illuminated.
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Each heart has its graveyard, each household its dead, And knells ring around us wherever we tread, And the feet that awhile made our pathway so bright Pass on to a land that is out of our sight.
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There is a fullness and calmness there which can come only from knowing pain.
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The Victorians, they were like the Germans in World War II. They could not stop recording details about their lives and their age.
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Artists recognize other artists as soon as the pencil begins to move.
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No one inspired me to write, but writer Harlan Ellison terrified me into getting published.
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