Experience suggests it doesn't matter so much how you got here, as what you do after you arrive.

I'm very interested in the impact of biotechnology on the way people live.

Seems like half my anxiety dreams are about airports.

I'm sorry. I can love you. I can grieve for you, or with you. I can share your pain. But I cannot judge you.

The principle difference between heaven and hell is the company you keep there.

I know girls who pine for it. They like to play dress-up and pretend being Vor ladies of old, rescued from menace by romantic Vor youths. For some reason they never play 'dying in childbirth', or 'vomiting your guts out from the red dysentery', or 'weaving till you go blind and crippled from arthritis and dye poisoning', or 'infanticide'. Well, they do die romantically of disease sometimes, but somehow it's always an illness that makes you interestingly pale and everyone sorry and doesn't involve losing bowel control.

The dead cannot cry out for justice. It is a duty of the living to do so for them.