But the way she saw it, you only had so much organization in your life. You had to choose: Invest it in your research, or fritter it away on housewor… - Michael Swanwick

He was not actually drunk, but emotion made him feel as if he were. Sorrow, loss, anger—these were as good as a bottle of the very worst gin.

It's inspired lunacy," Leyster agreed. Chuck looked crestfallen. "Right up there with continental drift, or the notion that birds might be descended from dinosaurs." Chuck brightened. "But it's also right up there with Eric Van Danniken and Lamarckian genetics. Until we've tested it out, it's just a nifty hypothesis, no more.

Can you really kill the Goddess?" Jane asked.
"You stupid gobbet of flesh! Don't you understand yet? There is no Goddess."
"No," Jane cried. "You said yourself—"
"I lied," the dragon said with a fearful complacency. "Everyone you have ever met has lied to you. Life exists, and all who live are born to suffer. The best moments are fleeting and bought with the coin of exquisite torment. All attachments end. All loved ones die. All that you value passes away. In such a vexatious existence laughter is madness and joy is folly. Shall we accept that it all happens for no reason, with no cause? That there is nobody to blame but ourselves but that accepting the responsibility is pointless for doing so cannot ease, defer, or deaden the pain? Not likely! It is so much more comforting to erect a straw figure on which to blame it all.
"Some bow down before the Goddess and others curse her every name. There is not a fart's difference between the two approaches. They cling to the fiction of the Goddess because admitting the alternative is unbearable.