You fall into a black hole, and you are irretrievably gone from the universe. That finality has made it irresistible to writers.

In my third novel there is an actual black hole that swallows everything you love.

A black hole holds all the colors of the universe.

You’re universally liked because you’re such a black hole in space. You don’t have any real traits. You’re sympa, at least as much as a narcissist can be, but that means nothing. You’re beautiful and everybody projects onto you what they’re looking for, which is easy to do since you don’t stand for anything definite. You’re a black hole in space.

I used to think information was destroyed in black hole. This was my biggest blunder, or at least my biggest blunder in science.

The internet to me is kind of like a black hole, and I never really go on it.