I Believe In No Final Solutions.

Practically All Sf Is Trash.

The Whole Plan Hinged Upon The Natural Curiosity Of Potatoes.

We Didn't Know Each Other Well. I Never Had The Time. Now I See That It Doesn't Make Any Difference. The Ones Who Hurry And The Ones Who Take Their Time All End Up In The Same Place. Just Don't Have Any Regrets. No Regrets.

Not Far From Here, By A White Sun, Behind A Green Star, Lived The Steelypips, Illustrious, Industrious, And They Hadn't A Care: No Spats In Their Vats, No Rules, No Schools, No Gloom, No Evil Influence Of The Moon, No Trouble From Matter Or Antimatter - For They Had A Machine, A Dream Of A Machine, With Springs And Gears And Perfect In Every Respect. And They Lived With It, And On It, And Under It, And Inside It, For It Was All They Had - First They Saved Up All Their Atoms, Then They Put Them All Together, And If One Didn't Fit, Why They Chipped At It A Bit, And Everything Was Just Fine.

Have It Compose A Poem -- A Poem About A Haircut! But Lofty, Noble, Tragic, Timeless, Full Of Love, Treachery, Retribution, Quiet Heroism In The Face Of Certain Doom! Six Lines, Cleverly Rhymed, And Every Word Beginning With The Letter S!