Best 516 quotes in «aliens quotes» category

I was on the floor. "Um, a little help?" Christopher put his hand down. Martini cleared his throat and Christopher's hand retracted. "I can handle it, thanks." "There's nothing amorous about pulling someone off the floor," Christopher muttered. "There is when I do it.

I wasn't sure if I'd imagined you and it'd be very telling of my mental state if I was bringing sodas to something I'd imagined.

I was surrounded by heaven. The sun, the moon, the earth, and all those living stars. They wen't static like in pictures taken from impossibly far away- they breathed, they glowed. They were future and past, possibility and memory. They were beautiful. "I never knew there were so many," I whispered. We are merely pieces of a grander design, even more insignificant than I imagined. When the earth ceases to be, all those stars will shine on. Out deaths will mean nothing to them. "I feel so small." No one replied. I wondered as I watched the stars, really seeing them for the fist time, whether they could see me, too.

Look, lady, I’m not going to bullshit you. I need to smoke enough crack cocaine to communicate with aliens. Give me all the money you got!

Mad, in exasperation, cried out to the unseen force, “Why did you summon us? There must be a reason. Tell us.” She heard a dreamlike voice. “You are Stargirls.” The voice paused, letting the fog and confusion of their nightmare to lift. Lyn found her voice, “But why us?” “You are the chosen ones by prophecy; you have proven your worthiness. A time warp brought you here. The one you opened was no accident. It was left a hundred thousand years ago just for you. Your Star training as children has prepared you well. You are ready for the next stage in your evolution.

Lyn, this was the “Aha!” moment when Desta found another astonishing skeleton. Remarkably, it appeared utterly human but existed before humans walked the Earth. Clutched in its hand a small sphere attached to an elaborate gold necklace. The sphere was not like any material on Earth. Remember when I told you our origins might lie in the stars? Well, I think we found the answer in the Afar desert Max

Magazines are very popular, despite no human ever feeling better for having read them. Indeed, their chief purpose is to generate a sense of inferiority in the reader that consequently leads to them needing to buy something, which they do, and then feel even worse, and so need to buy another magazine to see what they can buy next. It is an eternal and unhappy spiral that goes by the name of capitalism and it is really quite popular.

Mnamo mwaka 1957 Rais David Eisenhower wa Marekani (inasemekana) alipewa taarifa usiku mmoja akiwa Washington, D.C., kuhusu chombo cha ajabu kilichoanguka kwenye jangwa la Nevada huko Marekani. Ndani ya chombo kile kulikuwa na ‘aliens’ wawili, nao waliomba kuonana na Eisenhower kuhusu ujumbe waliokuja nao kutoka katika ulimwengu wao. Bila kuchelewa, Eisenhower alipanda ndege usiku huohuo mpaka Texas. Huko alichukua gari hadi kwenye eneo la kijeshi liitwalo Area 51, ambapo ndipo ule ujumbe wa ulimwengu mwingine ulipokuwa umeshikiliwa. Mkutano wa aina yake ulifanyika chini ya ardhi, kati ya Rais Eisenhower na hao viumbe wawili wa anga za mbali, chini ya tafsiri ya wanasayansi wa NASA. Walichotaka ni urafiki na dunia yetu, inayogombewa na dunia nyingi za ‘aliens’, kwa mbadala wa teknolojia kadha wa kadha ambazo sisi hatukuwa nazo. Pande zote mbili zilifikia maafikiano, wao wakitupa teknolojia, sisi tukiwapa uwezo wa kufanya majaribio ya kisayansi kwa binadamu wa dunia nzima. Hivyo kuanzia hapo ‘aliens’ wakawa na uhalali wa kuteka watu katika mazingira ya kutatanisha na kuingilia watu usiku wakiwa wamelala, katika tukio la kiulimwengu wa roho lijulikanalo kama ‘sleep paralysis’. ‘Sleep Paralysis’ ni tukio la ajabu. Mtu anapokuwa amelala mwili wake huonekana kufa ganzi, kiasi kwamba anajihisi hawezi hata kunyanyua mkono. Aghalabu hali hiyo inapotokea maana yake ni kwamba ‘aliens’ wanamchukua huyo mtu, kupitia kwenye paa la nyumba aliyolala, hadi mawinguni katika ndege yao. Ndani ya ndege wanaulaza mwili wa binadamu juu ya kitanda cha upasuaji, na kumfanyia upasuaji, ili kusoma biolojia iliyotumika kuumba wanadamu na kujua kwa nini sisi tuko tofauti na wao. Baada ya hapo wanamrudisha huyo mtu kitandani kwake, ambapo atalala usingizi wa kawaida hadi asubuhi. Atakapoamka hatajua kama alifanyiwa upasuaji. Wapo mamilioni ya watu duniani waliolalamika kutokewa na ‘aliens’, lakini serikali haziwahi kuilithibitisha hilo. Inavyosemekana, teknolojia za ‘aliens’ zinahifadhiwa na Jeshi la Marekani (Pentagon) na shirika la kijasusi la MAJI au MJ12. MJ12 ni watu 12 hatari zaidi duniani, wakiongozwa na mkurugenzi mkuu wa CIA (anayejulikana kama MJ1).

Maybe they seeded life on Earth millions of years ago, and now they're here to punish us for turning out to be such a lame species and inventing reality TV and shit?

May the sun bring opportunities.

Milkshakes make the world seem less shitty.

Mia stood between the bed and the broken window, holding an active plasma blade at waist-height in front of her. A thick coat of blood stained the plasma nearly from hilt to tip, hissing as it dribbled from blade to floor. “Are you all right?” Mia gave her a wan, distant smile. “It’s okay. I’ve done it before.

Monsters don't heal people. Angels do. - Sabrina

No doesn't mean to Marcus what it means to those without money and a car.

New York was home for Czerny, the same way Chicago was home for me. You don’t really know how attached you are until you move away, until you’ve experienced what it means to be dislodged, a cork floating on the ocean of another place.

Nikolai had expected to have to fight the urge to torture the progeny of his father’s murderer, but he had never anticipated fighting the urge to fuck her.

Nisi flashed his charismatic, mysterious smile. “Now, with this in mind, are you ready to take the next step?” Despite Caleb’s attempts at caution—at circumspection and even suspicion—the man’s words stirred his blood. They teased the possibilities of the power within his reach, real power extending far beyond parlor tricks and personal protection to a place where the course of life itself could be changed. “I am.

No matter what comes, we will persevere. It’s not over until we win.” Oh, how she wanted to believe him. How she wanted to believe that her father not only had all the answers, but the power to make everything okay. Once upon a time she had believed it; then he hadn’t come home. “Why are you so sure?” “Because I didn’t cross universes to return to life, simply to die again.

Not everyone can decode a dream! Dreamers are those abled minds that can read the intent of the dream in terms of energy, frequency & vibration...!

Note from Alien cookbook: “The more intelligent the human is, the better it tastes.

No, we absolutely should do it. If we can capture such a motherlode, it could make a pivotal difference in the coming war. We need it. AEGIS needs it, my mother needs it. This is why we’re here. “I’m merely pausing at the precipice of the cliff, peeking down into the chasm and asking, ‘Are we sure?’ So…” Alex eyed him wearing an uneasy grimace “…are we sure?

Of course. I died today, and now I'm going to fight aliens with a light saber. Maybe after that we can look for mermaids. Or unicorns." "No," he says. "Just aliens." Was that the barest hint of humour in his tone?

Occasionally, I get a letter from someone who is in “contact” with extraterrestrials. I am invited to “ask them anything.” And so over the years I’ve prepared a little list of questions. The extraterrestrials are very advanced, remember. So I ask things like, “Please provide a short proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem.” Or the Goldbach Conjecture. And then I have to explain what these are, because extraterrestrials will not call it Fermat’s Last Theorem. So I write out the simple equation with the exponents. I never get an answer. On the other hand, if I ask something like “Should we be good?” I almost always get an answer.

Often people meet other people by chatting via computer. They get to talking, seem to have a lot in common, even fall in love without ever meeting each other in person.” The farmer was staring at him. “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard.” “Unfortunately, often the person on the other end of the chat isn’t telling the truth about themselves. Jenna could have been lured by one of these people. They call it catfishing.

Now that we are all properly introduced,” I continue, “Back to business. Why are you here?” “Earthers need help, yes?” Janis asks. Led adds, “We have been approved to help.” “’Approved’?” I query. “By whom, or what?” They seem to turn to one another and confer silently. They then respond in that odd chorus, again, “The ‘Many Worlds Collective, InterGalactic Council’ sent us.” I sit back, a bit stunned. I mean, it’s one thing to be confronted by holograms that are not humans and not like anything on Earth. It’s quite a different thing to be told in clear terms that there are many worlds and that they are united in some way. “Is Earth a member?” Again, the “laughter.” Diana responds: “Yes, but Earthers mostly don’t know about being a member, yet. Most of you don’t even know about the Collective, right? You are to refer to it as the ‘MWC.’” I nod slowly. “Most of us?” “Well,” explains Led, “This is not our first contact with an Earther. We’ve been here all along and we’ve had thousands of contacts over the millennia. This is just the first one you’ll be allowed to make public.” “I will be allowed to make public?” I repeat, starting to panic a bit. I picture a media frenzy occurring right outside my rural cottage. Yikes! What is starting, here?

On the inner side of the aquarium of reality, beliefs define the area of the prison.

Once there were three tribes. The Optimists, whose patron saints were Drake and Sagan, believed in a universe crawling with gentle intelligence—spiritual brethren vaster and more enlightened than we, a great galactic siblinghood into whose ranks we would someday ascend. Surely, said the Optimists, space travel implies enlightenment, for it requires the control of great destructive energies. Any race which can't rise above its own brutal instincts will wipe itself out long before it learns to bridge the interstellar gulf. Across from the Optimists sat the Pessimists, who genuflected before graven images of Saint Fermi and a host of lesser lightweights. The Pessimists envisioned a lonely universe full of dead rocks and prokaryotic slime. The odds are just too low, they insisted. Too many rogues, too much radiation, too much eccentricity in too many orbits. It is a surpassing miracle that even one Earth exists; to hope for many is to abandon reason and embrace religious mania. After all, the universe is fourteen billion years old: if the galaxy were alive with intelligence, wouldn't it be here by now? Equidistant to the other two tribes sat the Historians. They didn't have too many thoughts on the probable prevalence of intelligent, spacefaring extraterrestrials— but if there are any, they said, they're not just going to be smart. They're going to be mean. It might seem almost too obvious a conclusion. What is Human history, if not an ongoing succession of greater technologies grinding lesser ones beneath their boots? But the subject wasn't merely Human history, or the unfair advantage that tools gave to any given side; the oppressed snatch up advanced weaponry as readily as the oppressor, given half a chance. No, the real issue was how those tools got there in the first place. The real issue was what tools are for. To the Historians, tools existed for only one reason: to force the universe into unnatural shapes. They treated nature as an enemy, they were by definition a rebellion against the way things were. Technology is a stunted thing in benign environments, it never thrived in any culture gripped by belief in natural harmony. Why invent fusion reactors if your climate is comfortable, if your food is abundant? Why build fortresses if you have no enemies? Why force change upon a world which poses no threat? Human civilization had a lot of branches, not so long ago. Even into the twenty-first century, a few isolated tribes had barely developed stone tools. Some settled down with agriculture. Others weren't content until they had ended nature itself, still others until they'd built cities in space. We all rested eventually, though. Each new technology trampled lesser ones, climbed to some complacent asymptote, and stopped—until my own mother packed herself away like a larva in honeycomb, softened by machinery, robbed of incentive by her own contentment. But history never said that everyone had to stop where we did. It only suggested that those who had stopped no longer struggled for existence. There could be other, more hellish worlds where the best Human technology would crumble, where the environment was still the enemy, where the only survivors were those who fought back with sharper tools and stronger empires. The threats contained in those environments would not be simple ones. Harsh weather and natural disasters either kill you or they don't, and once conquered—or adapted to— they lose their relevance. No, the only environmental factors that continued to matter were those that fought back, that countered new strategies with newer ones, that forced their enemies to scale ever-greater heights just to stay alive. Ultimately, the only enemy that mattered was an intelligent one. And if the best toys do end up in the hands of those who've never forgotten that life itself is an act of war against intelligent opponents, what does that say about a race whose machines travel between the stars?

On this planet are every kind of deadly animal from across the stars. The only people that come here are hunters looking for the most dangerous of trophies. No rescue. You either get your prize or you die.

People gravitated here for the open air, the prolific intoxicants and the visual treats. They made the deals here that were later played out elsewhere. They drank and got high. Sometimes they fought, not for money but for sport or grudge. They were the desperate and the daring, the lost and the searching. Tonight, they were his audience. Tomorrow, they would be his front line.

people go insane without fairy tales

people like to see will smith reacting to aliens

[O]ver the years I travelled to another universe. However alert we are, however much we think we know what will happen, antiquity remains an unknown, unanticipated galaxy. It is alien, and old people are a separate form of life. They have green skin, with two heads that sprout antennae. They can be pleasant, they can be annoying--in the supermarket, these old ladies won't get out of my way--but most important they are permanently other. When we turn eighty, we understand that we are extraterrestrial. If we forget for a moment that we are old, we are reminded when we try to stand up, or when we encounter someone young, who appears to observe green skin, extra heads, and protuberances.

Persons such as Isaac Asimov and Carl Sagan say that tens of thousands (maybe tens of millions) of planets will fulfill the conditions for the support of life. And then they take the rather deceptive step from the ‘possibility of life’ to the ‘inevitability of life’ by such connivance as would shame a crooked gambler. They posit towering numbers of ‘civilizations’ on those ‘possibility-of-life planets’, at least half of them to be more advanced than the Civilization of Earth and Humankind. But there is a strong element of Advocacy Science in this. There is a great and powerful lobby advocating the existence of great numbers of superior civilizations. One reason for this is that the secular-liberal-agnostic-relativistic faction of scientists cannot allow the uniqueness of anything, not of Earth, not of Life, certainly not of Human Life, most certainly not of existing Human Civilization. To allow the uniqueness of any of these things, they would have to cease to be secular-liberal-agnostic-relativistic persons. And the shock of changing their style would kill all of them. Science Fiction also has a vested interest in there being a multiplicity of inhabited worlds and civilizations. That is one of the small number of things that Science Fiction is about. But Science Fiction is, after all, only a fiction.

Reluctantly, we had already accepted every challenge at the moment we were born. And as long as we live, we have no right to give up. For we, or at least someone very similar to us, already died once, long ago in a faraway place.

Quinn dropped her hand and avoided Thalcu’s eye. “I . . . I don’t want to kill you,” she said to the floor. “Not if I could save you.” The woman smiled gently at Quinn, her lips curling behind her oxygen mask. “I will not really die,” she said, drawing Quinn’s surprised gaze. She looked at Quinn contently a moment and went on, “Do you know how worlds are born? From the first breath of a star. We are made of starlight. We can not bear to look into the sun, into the thing that birthed us, anymore than we can bear to look upon our parents in the throes of passion. It is our point of origin, and to it, we all must return.

Please, God, please, don't let me be normal! (high school yearbook)

Popularity is teenage heroin.

Quando una cosa è così meravigliosamente buona», gli rispose con aria sognante, «vuoi che duri il più possibile

Remember Ping-fa, Sun Tzu,’ Art of War—read between the lines: kick ass and take names later.” Mad Stargirl

Rigg shrugged. “I know it makes you feel better, but I think it’s arrogant to believe in anything anyway.” “Is that so?” “Yeah,” Rigg said, frowning at the clouds. “No one can really know what’s out there. People are too small in the grand scheme of things. Saying we know and understand the gods is like a bug saying they know and understand our airships. They don’t and they can’t.” Hari smiled. “Fair enough.

Rough lips crashed against her own, and all those problems she’d had with breathing? They were a dim memory as her panic was replaced by something much better. If this was what human kissing was like, she could understand why it caused people’s clothes to fall off. She wished her clothes would start falling off already.

Scorching, desiccated air blasted Nika as she stepped off the transport and peeled layers of moist tissue off her throat as she inhaled. She pivoted, yanked her heavy tactical shirt up over her head and tossed it inside the transport. The material was designed to protect her from blows and glancing cuts and would be less than useless against a Rasu attack— —a scorpion-like creature sporting a tail six centimeters long scurried past her feet in the sand, and she promptly retrieved the shirt and pulled it back on with a groan. The planet had defenses of its own, and the Rasu weren’t the only threat here.

Sci-fi doesn't show me much about alien's nature but shows a lot about North American nature.

She and Kennedy both dove for the power connector; Kennedy reached it first and yanked out the connection as Alex landed on her stomach beside it. The air settled down until the fine hairs on her arm no longer stood on end. Alex dropped her forehead to the platform and started laughing. “Just like university, isn’t it?” “Almost—nothing’s actually blown up yet.

Semantics, Admiral. I’d appreciate an honest answer.” “I’d appreciate a multitude of honest answers, but I rarely expect to receive them.” Miriam sighed; the verbal tete-a-tete was growing tiresome. Time to bring an end to it with, ironically, honesty.

She couldn’t be the first alien to crash-land on twenty-first-century Earth.

Seriously, Palta…” He was honestly puzzled, “I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about. What about your ears is supposed to be so bizarre?” “Um…You’d have to be blind to miss them,” I replied sarcastically. “If you’re not, you will be when you poke your eye out on one of them.

She bends over, whispering in my ear. “Have you ever been with a guy?” “Yes,” I say, even though that quick fumble with Luca Parry in the factory closet doesn’t count for much. He was all grabby hands, sloppy mouth, and slimy tongue. It’s an experience I’m in no hurry to repeat. Ugh. A severe shiver travels up my spine with the memory.

She died without us by her side, and now, we are left with the scars. In time, perhaps they will fade, but for now, they're still hauntingly there reminding us of the loss and pain.

She died without us by her side, and now, we are left with the scars. In time, they may fade, but for now, they're still hauntingly there reminding us of the loss and pain. - Unlikely Love (coming soon)