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The Muties have a proverb: Two heads are better than none.

"So," Claude said without emotion, "your Esper Muties would rule the world, yet they cannot spell tyranny."

"The nation that controls the Moon will control the tides."

The people of Candlewood Knolls are terribly troubled by trolls, who are driving their cars, and brawling in bars, and voting for Thor at the polls.

Monumental task, painting a world, for creatures half an inch tall.

Overhead, without any fuss, the stars were going out.

Two months ago in Camden, New Jersey, a forty-three year old man was found turned to stone staring at a position on a chessboard.

The Big Business Man smiled. "Time," he said, "is what keeps everything from happening at once."

I identified panda bones and dingo bones and capybara bones, but there were also some big thick bones which I could not identify, and I pointed them out to Ruiz.

Up there--God? In a dirty bathrobe?

I'm the fellow who, for more than a quarter century, has faithfully maintained the thesis that all writers should be funny-looking, and all stories should be funny. Almost all of the evil in the world is brought about by handsome writers doing pompous pieces.

"We used the same stories for a thousand years," he said. "Now, however, we have a new source, the American Comic Books. My grandfather began to use these in another place and time, and I use them now. I steal them from your orderly tents, and I have a box full of them. I have Space Comics and Commander Midnight; I have Galactic Gob and Mighty Mouse and the Green Hornet and the Masked Jetter. My grandfather also had copies of some of these, but drawn by older hands. But I do not have Wonder Woman, not a single copy. I would trade three-for-one for copies of her. I would pay a premium. I can link her in with an island legend to create a whole new cycle of stories, and I need new stuff all the time. Have you a Wonder Woman?"

It is a proud and lonely thing to be a man.

The doorknob opened a blue eye and looked at him.

The universe and its contents appeared.

"Let's take it point by point. Do you remember by any chance where you were when you first noticed that your body was missing?"

"When our minds have grown tired, when our lives have expired, when our troubles no longer can weary us, let our ashes return, neatly packed in an urn, to the bright purple swamps of our Sirius."

One by one the blue mutants crawled away, spitting out the torn, bloody fragments.

"Do stars hiss and sizzle when rain comes by night?"


Following the death of Jesus Christ, there was a period of readjustment that lasted for approximately one million years.

"We are v-r-r-riends! Ouch!"

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