science-fiction

Suppose whatever we can recognize we can find. We can if P=NP.

What is it in humans that makes us so eager to believe ill of one another? ... What makes us so hungry for it? Failed idealism, he suspected. We disappoint ourselves and then look around for other failures to convince ourselves: it's not just me. (15)

Brother, when you've been here as long as I have, you'll come to discover there are only one or two essential things worth living for. Unique to you and you alone. My honor is one of them for me. I keep my honor by keeping the relic out of their hands.

Anyone can get their hands on a fortune but to become successful one must work intelligent and hard._- EMW

Asleep you can experience many hours whilst only a few waking moments have passed. This is why dreams are an ideal platform for training.

We got places to go, people to meet, and things to blow up!That needs to be cross-stiched on a pillow

You stumble upon an unhappy Martian sentry on a mission and shoot ineffectually at his powersuit a few times before he pulps you with his laserbeam eyes and hideous poisonous-gas breath. Glory!

Fleshers used to spin fantasies about aliens arriving to __onquer_ Earth, to steal their __recious_ physical resources, to wipe them out for fear of __ompetition__as if a species capable of making the journey wouldn__ have had the power, or the wit, or the imagination, to rid itself of obsolete biological imperatives. Conquering the Galaxy is what bacteria with spaceships would do _ knowing no better, having no choice.

Fear sees, even when eyes are closed.

I felt sure that [Oyarsa] was what we call "good," but I wasn't sure whether I liked "goodness" so much as I had supposed.

In a thousand years, Fred, no one will even know or care we existed.

May it be written. May it be done.

Fred always goes with Daphne and Shaggy always sticks with Velma.""Well then, in that case, I'm Scooby.

They__e only askin_ you to do one thing. From what Rogue says, you ain__ exactly reluctant.___**k myself into a coma. Sure, I can do that. Then what?___h, wait an hour?

The finest SF comes to grips with life's mysteries, with our resentments against our own natures and our limited societies. It does so by asking basic questions in the artful, liberating way that is unique to this form of writing. Echoes of it are found in other forms of fiction - in the novel of ideas, in the historical novel, in the writings of the great philosophers and scientists; but the best SF does this all more searchingly, by taking what is in most people only a moment of wonder and rebellion against the arbitrariness of existence and making of it an art enriched by knowledge and possibility, expressing our deepest human longing to penetrate into the dark heart of the unknown.

And Elvex said, "I was the man." - In "Robot dreams" (Short story)

They are not free at all. They are essentially our prisoners.

Reality is highly overrated.