It's getting late. I must return to my ship or my men will think I've drowned and be celebrating.

Legends are best left as legends and attempts to make them real are rarely successful

I know not which I prefer the look of—those who attack us or that which defends us!

Everything means nothing that is the only truth.

Here, I thought, I had found the human race in its final stages of decadence perverse, insouciant, without ambition. And I could not blame them. After all, they had no future.

Trapped. Sinking. Can't be myself. Made into what other people expect. Is that everyone's fate? Were the great individualists the products of their friends who wanted a great individualist as a friend?

Our scientific advances will be merely obscene unless they help the large part of our world's population emerge from miserable uncertainty and debilitating terror.