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Everybody falls, and we all land somewhere.

Robert Charles Wilson

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Robert Charles Wilson
Age: 71
Born: 1953
Born: December 15
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Whittier
California
Falls
Somewhere
Land
Everybody
Fall

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What we cannot remember, we must rediscover.
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Some things are taken away from you, some you leave behind and some you carry with you, world without end.
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If I am an agnostic, Calyxa, it's because I'm also a realist.
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We spent a lot of time discussing cosmology first. I think that was your father's unique way of evaluating people. You can tell a lot about a person, he once said, by the way they look at the stars.
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I understand so very little. But I am not afraid to look: I am a good observer at last. My eyes are open, and I am not afraid.
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There's no drug that'll make a stupid man smart.
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We're all born strangers to ourselves and each other, and we're seldom formally introduced.
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Since Deacon Hollingshead's arrival in town last July the Dominion had been hard at work, cleansing New York City of moral corruption. Corruption is a popular word with the enthusiasts of the Dominion, usually uttered as a prelude to the knife, the docket, or the noose.
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For such people the consummate act of moral clarity was a lynching or a suicide bombing, a fatwa or a pogrom. And they were ascendant now, rising like dark stars over a terminal landscape .
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We're as ephemeral as raindrops. We all fall, and we all land somewhere.
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Times like this, with the wind moving the grass and curling around her like a huge cool hand, Tess felt the world as a second presence, as another person, as if the wind and the grass had voices of their own and she could hear them talking.
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To capture the pawn, threaten the queen.
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Nobody wants to conduct an autopsy on a dead saint.
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Do you want to tell the truth, or do you want to tell a story?
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Promises were like bad checks, easy to write and hard to cash.
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The attacking piece displaces its victim. The vanquished piece leaves the plane of the board entirely. But it does not, in a higher sense, cease to exist.
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I loved Molly. Or at least I told myself I did. Or, if what I felt for her was not love, it was at least a plausible imitation, a convincing substitute.
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What had been released into the desert vacuum and starry oases of the galaxy was the inexorable logic of reproduction and natural selection. What followed was parasitism, predation, symbiosis, interdependency chaos, complexity, life.
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When does loyalty become martyrdom?
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Average people seldom talked about anything interesting and often hurt each other savagely.
Robert Charles Wilson