Self-pity is egotism undiluted, after all—self-centeredness in its purest form.
Because promises matter. They matter now more than ever.
You are the human clay," Vosch whispers fiercely in my ear. "And I am Michelangelo. I am the master builder, and you will be my masterpiece.
I'm here because they've killed almost all of us, but not all of us. And that's their mistake, son. That's the flaw in their plan. Because if you don't kill all of us at once, whoever's left are not going to be the weak ones. The strong ones- and only the strong ones- will survive. The bent but unbroken, if you know what I mean. People like me. And people like you.
I'm one, too," he said. "What?" He spit a wad of blood and mucus into the dirt. "A virgin." What a shock. "What makes you think I'm a virgin?" I asked. "You wouldn't have hit me if you weren't.
How oft do they rescue or ruin us, through whimsy or design or a combination of both, the adults to whom we entrust our care!
And if humanity is the last war, then I am the battlefield.
Oh, Will Henry. After all we have been through, how could I send you away now, at our most critical hour? You are indispensable to me.
It's like a cockroach working up a plan to defeat the shoe on its way down to crush it.
I'm not encouraged by the silence. I can think of no benign reason for it. I'm afraid we may expect something closer to Christopher Columbus's arrival in the Americas than a scene from Close Encounters, and we all know how that turned out for the Native Americans.
Still, you tend to believe what you always believed, think what you always thought, expect what you always expected
Afterward I told his widow, "Your husband is dead, but at least he died laughing.' I think she took some comfort in that. It is the second-best way to die, Will Henry." He did not say what the best way was.
Dr. Warthrop chopped off my finger with a butcher knife.
It was the price of survival. The cost of his people's last, desperate gamble: To rid his new home of humanity, he had to become human. And being human, he had to overcome his humanity.
I don't care what the stars say about how small we are. One, even the smallest, weakest, most insignificant one, matters.
Some things you don't have to promise. You just do.
And then Evan Walker kisses me.
When I wake up the next morning, there's a Hershey's Kiss sitting on the table beside me.
We are the clay, and you are Michelangelo. And we will be your masterpiece.
In every creepy movie ever made, the barn is the prime nesting ground for the things you don't know you're looking for and always regret finding.
In case you're an alien and you're reading this: BITE ME.
But we fall only that we might rise, Alfred. All of us fall; all of us, as you say, screw up. Falling is not important. It is how we get up after the fall that's important.
It wasn't aliens that first made us gear up for war; it was our fellow humans.
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