Me and polite have never been on close terms.

Yeah, but I forgot to take my George Orwell-shaped multivitamins along with my breakfast bowl of Big Brother Os this morning.

You know how confusing the whole good-evil concept is for me.

Like “love,” “hope” is one of those ridiculously disproportional words that by all rights should be a lot longer.

No rest for the wicked, Bob, and that means that we can't slack off either, or they'll outwork us.

Murphy nodded, frowning at the road ahead of her. "The reason treachery is so reveiled," she said in a careful tone of voice, "is because it usually comes from someone you didn't think could possibly do such a thing.

Loneliness is a hard thing to handle. I feel it, sometimes. When I do, I want it to end. Sometimes, when you're near someone, when you touch them on some level that is deeper than the uselessly structured formality of casual civilized interaction, there's a sense of satisfaction in it. Or at least, there is for me. It doesn't have to be someone particularly nice. You don't have to like them. You don't even have to want to work with them. You might even want to punch them in the nose. Sometimes just making that connection is its own experience, its own reward.