Chindi

“Organized mayhem,” Nick commented, “seems to be the chief preoccupation of intelligent species everywhere.”

“One should always be skeptical. That’s always been our problem. We have too many believers.”

“Believers in what?”

“In everything.”

What would happen is that people like Geroge and Alyx would grow old and die chasing a dream. Although there were probably worse things to do with one’s life.

One could not always put safety up front as the prime goal. Do that, and who would ever achieve anything of note?

The man was either foolish or fearless. Assuming there was a difference.

There’d been studies over the years supporting the proposition that groups composed exclusively of women usually made intelligent decisions, that exclusively male groups did a bit less well, and that mixed groups did most poorly of all, by a substantial margin. It appeared that, when women were present, testosterone got the upper hand and men took greater risks than they might otherwise. Correspondingly, women in the mixed group tended to revert to roles, becoming more passive, and going along with whatever misjudgment the males might perpetrate.

So long as you believe in some truth you do not believe in yourself. You are a servant. A man of faith.

Her experience had taught her that people who insisted on having others recognize their outstanding qualities usually didn’t have any.

Embrace your life, find what it is that you love, and pursue it with all your soul. For if you do not, when you come to die, you will find that you have not lived.

The Peacekeepers had a tradition that every problem had a solution. It was a nice slogan. Wasn’t true, but it sounded good.

“Alyx,” she said, “you're going to be a legend.”

“I already am, Captain,” she said.