We are slaves, all of us...Some are slaves to fear. Others are slaves to reason—or base desire. It is our lot to be slaves...and the question must be to what shall we owe our indenture? Will it be to truth or to falsehood, hope or despair, light or darkness? I choose to serve the light, even though that bondage often lies in darkness.

There was, like, this black hole where the world used to be, and we were both falling toward it. What could we hold on to?

Then I strip the pants away from each leg, like peeling a banana. That's it, the perfect metaphor: peeling a banana.

We are very much like them: indiscriminate killers, ruled by drives little acknowledged and less understood, mindlessly territorial and murderously jealous - the only significant difference being that they have yet to master our expertise in hypocrisy, the gift of our superior intellect that enables us to slaughter one another in droves, more often than not under the auspices of an approving god!

The monstrous act by definition demands a monster.

We are the clay, and you are Michelangelo. And we will be your masterpiece.

It wasn't aliens that first made us gear up for war; it was our fellow humans.