If those who despise us stone us as prophets, they must listen to us as prophets. If they curse us as sorcerers, they must learn to curse from us, as sorcerers.
Let us enlighten the young, and let us be condemned for corrupting the young, like Socrates. Let us awaken the old before they sleep forever, though they must read us in secret like the Kabbalah. [...] The difficulties and successes of our books and magazines, and the rejection and misinterpretation of the films made from our ideas-are the flounderings of the human mind upon the Paleozoic shore. We are the sand in its gills; let's not lose our grit. (Gene Wolfe)

If those who despise us stone us as prophets, they must listen to us as prophets. If they curse us as sorcerers, they must learn to curse from us, as sorcerers. Let us enlighten the young, and let us be condemned for corrupting the young, like Socrates. Let us awaken the old before they sleep forever, though they must read us in secret like the Kabbalah. [...] The difficulties and successes of our books and magazines, and the rejection and misinterpretation of the films made from our ideas-are the flounderings of the human mind upon the Paleozoic shore. We are the sand in its gills; let's not lose our grit.

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condemned curse difficulties forever grit human learn listen lose mind misinterpretation paleozoic read rejection sand secret shore sleep stone young kabbalah prophets socrates

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Why be afraid if I'm not alone? Though life is never easy, the rest is unknown. Up to now, for me, it's been hands aginst stone. Spent each and ev'ry moment, Searching for what to believe. Coming out of the dark, I finally see the light now. And it's shining on me. Coming out of the dark, I know the love that saved me, You're sharing with me. Starting again is part of the plan. And I'll be so much stronger holding your hand. Step by step I'll make it through; I know I can. It may not make it easier, But I have felt you near all the way... Forever and ever, I stand on the rock of your love. Love is all it takes, no matter what we face.

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I will give you more and stronger ones. But if you still persist in refusing to listen to reason and decline to do my bidding, and if you wish deliberately to rush to your ruin, then I will shortly, in your presence, order your Castle to be stormed. (Here he pointed with one hand towards Fort Provintia.) My smart boys will attack it, conquer it, and demolish it in such a way, that not one stone will remain standing. If I wish to set my forces to work, then I am able to move Heaven and Earth; wherever I go, I am destined to win. Therefore take warning, and think the matter well over.

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I do hereby and forever abandon abandoning all hope. Honestly, I give up on giving up. I'm just not cut out to be some hopeless, disillusioned wretch with no aspirations for the rest of the eternity, sprawled catatonic in my own feces on a cold stone floor. In all probability the Human Genome Project will, someday, find that I carry some recessive gene for optimism, because despite all my best efforts I still can't scrape together even a couple of days of hopelessness. Future scientists would call it Pollyanna Syndrome, and if forced to guess, I'd say that mine has been a way-long case of history chasing rainbows.

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We are living in a period in which many people have changed their mind about what the use of music is or could be for them. Something that doesn't speak or talk like a human being, that doesn't know its definition in the dictionary or its theory in the schools, that expresses itself simply by the fact of its vibrations. People paying attention to vibratory activity, not in reaction to a fixed ideal performance, but each time attentively to how it happens to be this time, not necessarily two times the same. A music that transports the listener to the moment where he is.

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