Spider Robinson Quotes

She was black and a woman and scarred, and as the thought formed in our minds we realized that it was a redundancy. Her scar was visible externally, was all.

Shared pain is lessened.
Shared joy is increased.
Thus we refute entropy.

Some guys step on a rake in the dark, and get mad and go punch somebody. Others step on a rake in the dark and fall down laughing at themselves. I know which kind of guy I'd rather be. So do my friends.

Am I finally addressing a sentient being?

A writer named Chris McCubbin came in claiming to be suffering from what he called “carpal tunnel vision,” and with him was a programmer named Steve Jackson who bought a round for the house, saying he had a “persistent-hacking coffer.” They earned grim laughter with their theory of the Worst Possible Merger: F.B.I.B.M.

Callahan dried his big meaty hands on his apron and cleared his throat with a sound like a bulldozer in pain.

Shared pain is lessened.
Shared joy is increased.

Mrs. Martin, I happen to be committed to a course of action. That does not mean I don't care whether the action is good or bad.

Progress is something with no pity, and no purpose. It just happens. It chews up all you ever knew, and spits out things you can't understand, and the only value it seems to have is to make a few people a lot of money.

Next morning I decided that hangovers are like sex—the second time isn’t quite as painful. If the analogy held, by tomorrow I’d be enjoying it.

I conclude you must be a natural horses's ass.

She hadn’t said it like a joke or hyperbole. “In this country it is,” Arethusa replied seriously, and reached to take the peach juice I gave her, one of her after the other. She smiled at me. “I don’t see why,” Lady Sally said. “Pacifists — and anarchists, and libertarians — specifically repudiate the right of the state to employ armed agents — to protect them from murder, for instance. So shooting one ought to be no worse than a misdemeanor. ‘Disturbing the peace,’ say, or ‘frivolous discharge of a firearm.’ ” “ ‘Unlicensed hunting,’ maybe,” I suggested. “They’re not restricted,” she pointed out. “As long as you eat the meat, and clean up after…” “I’m particular about what I eat,” I said. “But I will kill this bunch. If you can help me track ’em.” “Joseph,” Arethusa said plaintively, “when I decided to love you, I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty. Do you realize we’ve never gone an entire day without you announcing your intention to murder someone?” “People who plant nuclear mines in major population centers?” I said. “You bet I’ll kill them if I get a chance.” “No allowances for good intentions?” “None,” I said firmly. “Even if I stipulate that a world of enforced peace run by something like Weathermen with nukes is a good intention — and I don’t — nobody elected these clowns to do the job. They don’t have the right. Even a tyrant rules by consent of his people, no matter how difficult he makes it for them to withhold it. He rules openly, a fair target for any assassin. But these vermin are worse than a well-poisoner.” She bit her lip. Then she shrugged. “You’re right,” she said, “but I want you to promise me that you’ll give up murdering people once we’re married.

Nikky has more fiber than I do, I guess: he doesn't let a little thing like death slow him down.

How did they manage to make 'you reap what you sow' such a trite-sounding cliche that I'm only just now realizing that I can never get away with anything, and never have? For what twisted reason were I and all my generation told so often of the essential corruption and evil of Man that it took me twenty years to learn to like myself and another ten to begin to love myself?

He smiled like a sun lamp.