There can be no progress without head-on confrontation.
It was getting the results that made science worth doing; the accolades were a thin, secondary pleasure.
Once you've grown up in space, moving on means moving out, not going back to Earth. Nobody wants to be a groundpounder.
When the chemistry is right, all the experiments work.
Any technology that does not appear magical is insufficiently advanced.
The peers just fill the air with their speeches. ""And from what I've seen, vice versa.
They will do anything for the worker, except become one.
In the mountains, fatigue is the biggest controllable limitation that will come between you and success.
We have begun to slam doors, and to throw things. I throw my purse, an ashtray, a package of chocolate chips, which breaks on impact. We are picking up chocolate chips for days. Jon throws a glass of milk, the milk, not the glass: he knows his own strength, as I do not. He throws a box of Cheerios, unopened. The things I throw miss, although they are worse things. The things he throws hit, but are harmless. I begin to see how the line is crossed, between histrionics and murder.
Sometimes I wish I wasn't as conscious as I am. It would be so much easier.
Fashion is so over the top.