Joan Slonczewski
Joan Slonczewski is an American microbiologist at Kenyon College and a science fiction writer who explores biology and space travel.
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You are as responsible for what you let happen as for the actions you share.
She watched the indigo sky, and the stars coming out tranquil as ever, as if this were any ordinary evening. Only humans knew what an evil time this was.
If every planet in the Patriarchy refused to be ruled, we all would be free.
“Magic is nonsense.”
“Magic is anything you don’t understand.”
“People fear stone,” Usha said, “because it contains never-life.”
“Non-life? You mean, death?”
“Nonsense,” she repeated vehemently. “What’s to fear about death? Death is natural. Stone is never-life.”
Spinel took another tack. “If they fear it, then how come enough Sharers want it so the traders stock shelves full?”
“How should I know? Why do Valans drink the toxic waste product of sugar-eating yeast?”
“I can’t change what I am ovenight.”
“Nor can I. And yet, one can’t stop changing, either.”
There was no time for bitterness now: eat bitterness, and bitterness eats you.
Death hastens those who hasten death.
A life postponed too long might never be lived.
Usha had said that males were not all that different, just bigger outside to make up for what they lacked within.
A thousand fools believe a lie, and it’s good as truth.
Death can be hastened but never shared.
Of all the well-meant emotions pity is the cruelest to share.
She tended to keep her eyes half closed, as if full sight of the world’s absurdity might be too much to bear.
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