That’s all I remember, really. We fly around. I shoot the guns. The explosions are pretty. People die. What the hell are they fighting for? Freedom? What the hell is that?
You’re born out of nothing. You live for a while. You die. You go back to nothing.
What kind of fool dies for a word?
A better class of fool than the one who dies for a paycheck?
Don’t know.
American science fiction writer
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