Don't you have a religion? Dorolow asked Horza.Yes, he replied, not taking his eyes away from the screen on the wall above the end of the main mess-room table. My survival.So... your religion dies wit...
The trouble with writing fiction is that it has to make sense, whereas real life doesn't.
War, famine, disease, genocide. Death, in a million different forms, often painful and protracted for the poor individual wretches involved. What god would so arrange the universe to predispose its cr...
It was a warship, after all. It was built, to glory in destruction, when it was considered appropriate. It found, as it was rightly and properly supposed to, an awful beauty in both the weaponry of w...
If this goes badly and I make a crater, I want it named after me!
All reality is a game. Physics at its most fundamental, the very fabric of our universe, results directly from the interaction of certain fairly simple rules, and chance; the same description may be a...
You're saying nothing lasts forever, he heard the fellow whine. (Well, pretty trite, he thought.)No, he heard her say. I'm saying with very few exceptions nothing lasts forever, and amongst those exce...
Sometimes what goes without saying is best said anyway.
Oh, they never lie. They dissemble, evade, prevaricate, confound, confuse, distract, obscure, subtly misrepresent and willfully misunderstand with what often appears to be a positively gleeful relish...
From up here they could see for hundreds of kilometres across Frettle Plate. The system’s star, Lacelere, was still rising and slowly yellowing to full brightness, shining through the continents of ai...
When in Rome; burn it.
We are what we do, not what we think.
Though drones, avatars and even humans are one thing; the loss of any is not without moral and diplomatic import, of course, but might be dismissed as merely unfortunate and regrettable, something to...
That’s why you can destroy them, win an argument, prove the other person wrong, and still they believe what they did in the first place. He
I have seen people who find that grief gives them something they never had before, and no matter how terrible and real their loss they choose to hug that awfulness to them rather than push it away.
Long sweeping swathes of darkly torrential rain.
[T]here can be a form of vanity in grief that is indulged rather than suffered.
Theirs is a civilization of deprivation; ours of finely balanced satisfaction ever teetering on the brink of excess.
The Sublime. The almost tangible, entirely believable, mathematically verifiable nirvana just a few right-angle turns away from dear boring old reality: a vast, infinite, better-than-virtual ultra-exi...
Neeporlax presented something of a contrast.