I am the bridge between the bleeding edge and the dead center. I stand between the Wizard of Oz and the man behind the curtain. I am the curtain.

If believing absurd falsehoods increase the odds of getting laid or avoiding predators, your brain will believe those falsehoods with all its metaphorical little heart.

I really wanted to talk to her. I just couldn't find an algorithm that fit.

Radar is too long in the tooth for fine detail.

Stars, everywhere. So many stars that I could not for the life me understand how the sky could contain them all yet be so black.

This is how you communicate with a fellow intelligence: You hurt it, you keep on hurting it, until you can distinguish the speech from the screams.

What's the difference between being dead, and just not knowing you're alive?