"It was not an unfamiliar sensation, but it was strange to feel it in the daytime. Mostly, it was a nighttime visitor, an ever-gentle gnawing at the back of the head that had to be always guarded against, lest its realization sweep forth with a cold familiar rush. It was the sudden startling glimpse over the edge—the realization that death is inevitable, that it happens to everyone, that it would happen to me too; that someday, someday, the all-important I would cease to exist. Would stop. Would end. Would no longer be. Nothing. Nobody. Finished. Death."

“I think I exist, therefore I exist. I think.”

“Death comes black and hard, rushing down on me from the future, with no possible chance of escape.”

“Auberson’s first impression of the man was of eight pounds of potatoes in a ten-pound sack.”

“You aren’t really jumping through time, that’s the illusion; what you’re actually doing is leaving one timestream and jumping to—maybe even creating—another. The second one is identical to the one you just left, including all of the changes you made in it—up to the instant of your appearance. At that moment, simply by the fact of your existence in it, the second timestream becomes a different timestream. You are the difference.”

““You could call it that,” Auberson sighed. It wouldn’t be correct, but you could call it that.”

“Now you see why I hate to leave my lab. It tires me out too much to have to do other people’s thinking for them.”