...and I Confess That, Like

You Have To Have Something Worth Saying And Then The Ability To Say It- Writing's A Double Skill, Really.

"i Think I Know The Real Reason." "which Is?" "alcohol In The Dust Clouds. Goddamn Stuff Is Everywhere. Any Lousy Species Ever Invents The Telescope And The Spectroscope And Starts Looking In Between The Stars, What Do They Find?" He Knocked The Glass On The Table. "loads Of Stuff, But Much Of It Alcohol." He Drank From The Glass. "humanoids Are The Galaxy's Way Of Trying To Get Rid Of All That Alcohol."

There Has Seldom If Ever A Shortage Of Eager Young Males Prepared To Kill And Die To Preserve The Security, Comfort And Prejudices Of Their Elders, And What You Call Heroism Is Just An Expression Of This Simple Fact; There Is Never A Scarcity Of Idiots.

In Theory, I Work An Eight-hour Day And A Five-day Week Which Means I Can Socialise With My Pals Who Mostly Have Normal Jobs Like Teaching And Computer Programming.

People Were Always Sorry. Sorry They Had Done What They Had Done, Sorry They Were Doing What They Were Doing, Sorry They Were Going To Do What They Were Going To Do; But They Still Did Whatever It Is. The Sorrow Never Stopped Them; It Just Made Them Feel Better. And So The Sorrow Never Stopped.