The Complete Stories of Theodore Sturgeon, Volume II: Microcosmic God

No man can rob successfully over a period of years without pleasing the people he robs.

The baby regarded Mike gravely as she discoursed to it about a poor drowned woofum-wuffums, and did the bad man treat it badly, then. The baby belched eloquently. “He belches in English!” I remarked. “Did it have the windy ripples?” cooed Mike. “Give us a kiss, honey lamb.” The baby immediately flung its little arms around her neck and planted a whopper on her mouth. “Wow!” said Mike when she got her breath. “Shorty, could you take lessons!” “Lessons my eye,” I said jealously. “Mike, that’s no baby, that’s some old guy in his second childhood.

His body was tubby but his arms apparently couldn’t understand that, for they were long and scrawny. From his brow to an inch below his eyes, his nose turned up; from there on, down. His short upper lip slanted sharply toward his tonsils, which had the effect of making his chinlessness positively jut. (...) The bartender was fascinated by the way the teardrops proceeded down Biddiver’s amazing nose. One drop would dash almost halfway, and then hesitate, daunted by the hump. Then it would be joined by another teardrop, and the two, merging, would surmount the obstacle and slip down to hang glittering over the disappearing lip until a sob came along to shake them off.

Sometimes I sets and thinks, and sometimes I just sets.

Sometimes I sets and thinks, and sometimes I just sets.” The former is easy enough, and is what even an accomplished loafer has to go through before he reaches the latter and more blissful state. It takes years of practice to relax sufficiently to be able to “just set.” I’d learned it years ago. But