The problem of having a life-possible temperature over a fair part of area for a fair part of the time has been solved by Earth by a deep inclination… - R. A. Lafferty

Aye, a man’d be a fool to lose his head twice over the same thing,” Thomas mused, still looking more than half stubborn. “Of course I’ll sign.”
“He’d have to feel himself a little better than those around him to take up a challenge like that,” Foreman put in hurriedly as Thomas had already touched magnetic stylus to the form.
“He’d have to be a man of some pride.”
“I am a man of some pride,” Thomas said. “I do feel myself a little better than those around me, now that I really look at them.”
“He’d have to be a man who couldn’t be pushed and couldn’t be scared,” said Foreman.
“I say I’m such a man, even if it’s a lie. But I scare a little,” Thomas said.
“He’d have to be a man who’d stand his ground even if he were scared,” Foreman needled.
“He’d have to be quite a man to die for a point, even if he understood it only at the last minute, and then dimly. He’d have to be such a man-“
“Foreman, you fool, what are you up to?” Proctor demanded.
“Who pushed me into the corner the other time, Fabian?” Thomas asked softly. “Who required my head of me for his point?”
“If you’re granted another life, Thomas, you try to figure it out. Will he be writ as friend or enemy of you, do you think? On which side did he seem?

I don't think I should be getting more attention from mainstream book reviewers. I've never written any mainstream books, and I'm always surprised when the mainstreamers notice me at all.

Christopher couldn't recall what day it was; he certainly didn't know what hour it was. It was a gray day, but there was no dullness in that gray. It was shimmering pearl-gray, of a color bounced back by shimmering water and shimmering air. It was a crimson-edged day, like a gray squirrel shot and bleeding redly from the inside and around the edges. Yes, there was the pleasant touch of death on things, gushing death and gushing life.