Summertide

That’s what logic says. But I say, phooey, who wants logic? Not you, and not me. We want results.

“We’re just too nosy, Commander,” he went on. “Most humans have their patience level set a little too low, and their curiosity a bit too high.”

What does one do when a madman suggests an appealing course of action? One worries—but probably goes along with it.

Mathematics is universal. But very little else is.

Everyone was polite; no one was happy.

The partners were there; gravity was calling the changes, and the cosmic dance was ready to begin.

But humans had to learn to ignore appearance. No two beings who shared common thinking processes and common goals should be truly alien to each other.

But mere plausibility did not make the statement true.

It might be an impossible task, but at least it was a well-defined one. The rules for performance were no problem. He had learned them long ago on Teufel: you succeed, or you die trying. Until you succeed, you never relax. Until you die, you never give up.

Be an optimist! It’s the only way to live.

No purpose is served by making private suffering into a public event.

We are creatures of conditioning, Commander. We assume that what we know is easy, and we find mysterious whatever we do not.