Charles Sheffield

His sin was something that scientists had done for thousands of years. Scientists didn’t usually change data, not unless they were outright charlatans. But when facts didn’t agree with theory, there was an awful temptation to find reasons for rejecting the offending data and and hanging on to the theory. Ptolemy had done it. Newton had done it. Darwin had done it. Einstein had done so explicitly.

Happy endings were for children’s stories and fool. You live in misery, and then you die. Life, by definition, was not designed to end happily.
Louis continued aft. No happy ending, then. That was a fact, certain as death itself. He was living at the moment in a dream, an imagined world where everything went right.
But—dreams are real while they last. Could you say more of life?
A dream sequence was no more than a happy interlude, but maybe a happy interlude could last for an awful long time.

The same thing happens to every President. People tell a chief executive what they think he wants to hear. Rosy economic reports, high popularity figures, promising international changes, you name it. There’s a competition to be the first with good news. Anyone who tells bad news tends to get weeded out—even if all the real news is bad.

You went through life in public office, laying claim to high morality when you knew quite well that at heart you were totally immoral. You were well acquainted with the majority of the seven deadly sins. Certainly pride, anger, and greed had their place in your life. You could claim a lifelong familiarity with and affection for lust.
And then, at an age when a man ought know himself, you discovered that your immorality had its limits.

Everyone was polite; no one was happy.

You crazy? You’ve got me confused with a guy who cares about other people.

Everyone agreed what an interesting concept it was—the sort of thing that ought to be true, in an interesting world.

TIG. Trust In Government. An old political principle, to give your organization a name that’s the opposite of what you mean.

I’d make a case for saying anything that propagates itself in an intentional way qualifies to be thought of as alive.

Other people’s jobs always seemed easier than yours until you actually had to do them.

There is nothing more alien to a modern American than yesterday’s empires, with their arbitrary imperial powers, their cruelty, and their casual control over life and death.

Darya was beginning to understand why she might be ruined forever for academic life. Certainly, the world of ideas had its own pleasures and thrills. But surely there was nothing to compete with the wonderful feeling of being alive, after knowing without a shadow of doubt that you would be dead in one second.

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

How did you do that?" The Hymenopt inclined her head. "With respect, Professor Lang, great intellectual power, even at the level you possess it, is not always a substitute for humble practical experience.

The mills of bureaucracy may or may not grind fine, but they certainly grind exceeding slow.