Peter F. Hamilton

“Ladies,” Pamela raise her glass. “A toast.”

“A toast,” they agreed.

“Expensive shopping, older champagne, and younger men.”

I’ve got the worst time of my life ahead of me, and our wonderful medical establishment will stretch it out and out until I just scream for it to end.

Politicians, they’re all as bad as each other.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“I think you’re supposed to. All my friends who talk native psychobabble say you should rationalize events back to their origin point so you can acknowledge their structural integration within your life flow.”

“Alison, that’s…that…such a load of crap.”

“I know that.”

The whole concept of salvation through belief offers strength to those who doubt themselves.

Faith, Quinn mused, was a strange power. They had committed their lives to the sect, never questioning its gospels. Yet in all of that time, they had the reassurance of routine… The bedrock of every religion, that your God is a promise, never to be encountered in this life, this universe.

You cannot impose ideologies on people who do not embrace it wholeheartedly.