All that hurry can blur the truth that life is a zero-sum equation. Every minute I save will get used on something else, possibly no more sublime than staring at the newel post trying to remember what I just ran upstairs for.

Sorrisi nel riconoscere la prima persona che entrava, e subito ebbi la sensazione che tutto sarebbe andato bene. Saremmo stati protetti. Era arrivato Edward.

How ignorant a man can become on a diet of managed history.

I am a collection of the obsolete, a relic of the damned, of the lost and strayed. I am the waylaid pieces of history which sank out of sight in all of our pasts. Such an accumulation of riffraff has never before been imagined.

Written By Frank Herbert

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