Philip José Farmer Quotes

Suddenly, he was weeping. The tears were for the good things that had been or might have been, for the bad things that had been but should not have been.

You know, Doc and … as if they were brothers … coloring … black hair and gray eyes and a darker skin, but Doc has …” They talked on, rambling much. I got the impression that these two octogenarians had known each other intimately for a long long time. They had been through much with each other, and they were very fond of each other. The abuses and insults they loosed at each other were good-natured, indeed, their second natures. And as I listened — read, rather — I understood that they were here on The Last Great Adventure. There had been three other men who had shared their exploits and dangers in the past. But these were dead now. The two old men expected to die soon, but they had insisted on coming to Africa with Caliban, and he had reluctantly agreed.

He looks like he’d be a hellcat in a fight. Tom and I agreed that he was easily the best qualified. But he doesn’t know anything about books, and I need educated people around me. That may sound snobbish, but so what?

This story is about love, which means that it is also about hate.

Now, this is what the visitor said the Ethicals had learned from the Ancients. The Creator, God, the One Spirit, call it what you will, forms all. It is the universe; the universe is it. But its body is formed of two essences. One is matter, the other, for lack of a better word, is nonmatter.

Invincible ignorance always upset him, even though he knew he should just laugh at it.

The plant-man said, ‘I’ve observed that when a human is dealing with another, he’s usually logical only if he’s advancing his self-interests or has a desire to hurt or put down the other. Is this one of those situations?

Drowned idols swirl like seeds in chaos' wine.
Look, Job! Caught Beauty, held to light, now apes
A good, now evil, thing — the shifting sign
And spectrum of archaic, psychic shapes.

"...a writing in the sand which all may read but few understand." - Philip Jose Farmer in 'Riders of the Purple Wage

Miles above the Earth we know,
Fancy's rocket roars. Below,
Here and Now are needles which
Sew a pattern black as pitch,
Waiting for the rocket's light.

Take St. Augustine, for instance. "Asshole” was the only word that fit him. A monster of ego and selfishness.
St. Francis was about as saintly as a person could be. But he was undoubtedly psychotic. Kissing a leper’s sores to demonstrate humility, indeed!

One thing is sure, O comrades, that the love
That fights to keep us rooted in the earth,
But also urges us to dare the stars,
This irresistible, this ancient power
Wedged in the soul, unshakable, is the light
That burns our roots and leaves us free for Space.

On returning to Germany, he rejoined Hitler, whom he believed to be the only man who could make Germany great again.

Imagination was the great cozener of the past.

I do believe that man is a rope between animal and superman. But the superman I'm thinking of isn't Nietzsche's. The real superhuman, man or woman, is the person who's rid himself of all prejudices, neuroses, and psychoses, who realizes his full potential as a human being, who acts naturally on the basis of gentleness, compassion, and love, who thinks for himself and refuses to follow the herd. That's the genuine dyed-in-the-wool superman.