The Year's Best Science Fiction: Sixteenth Annual Collection

The Year's Best Science Fiction: Sixteenth Annual Collection (ISBN 978-0312204457) is a science fiction anthology edited by Gardner Dozois that was published in 1999. It is the 16th in The Year's Best Science Fiction series.

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    In some withdrawn, unpublic mead
    Let me sigh upon a reed,
    Or in the woods, with leafy din,
    Whisper the still evening in:
    Some still work give me to do,—
    Only—be it near to you!
    For I’d rather be thy child
    And pupil, in the forest wild,
    Than be the king of men elsewhere,
    And most sovereign slave of care:
    To have one moment of thy dawn,
    Than share the city’s year forlorn.
    Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)

    Our science has become terrible, our research dangerous, our findings deadly. We physicists have to make peace with reality. Reality is not as strong as we are. We will ruin reality.
    Friedrich Dürrenmatt (1921–1990)

    April is in my mistress’ face,
    And July in her eyes hath place,
    Within her bosom is September,
    But in her heart a cold December.
    —Unknown. Subject #4: July Subject #5: September Subject #6: December. All Seasons in One. . .

    Oxford Book of Sixteenth Century Verse, The. E. K. Chambers, comp. (1932)

    No annual training or muster of soldiery, no celebration with its scarfs and banners, could import into the town a hundredth part of the annual splendor of our October. We have only to set the trees, or let them stand, and Nature will find the colored drapery,—flags of all her nations, some of whose private signals hardly the botanist can read,—while we walk under the triumphal arches of the elms.
    Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)

    Bolkenstein, a Minister, was speaking on the Dutch programme from London, and he said that they ought to make a collection of diaries and letters after the war. Of course, they all made a rush at my diary immediately. Just imagine how interesting it would be if I were to publish a romance of the “Secret Annexe.” The title alone would be enough to make people think it was a detective story.
    Anne Frank (1929–1945)