Best 529 quotes in «sci fi quotes» category

For some the label sci-fi is just a shortand for science fiction, an alternative to sf gesturing at ... you know, that stuff we like.

For some people,being mean to others is the point of their lives.

Frankly, Olan couldn't hit a bull in the ass with a ping pong paddle.

From the first she showed a curious sensitivity to what, I suppose, may be called the 'influences' of the place. She said it 'smelled' of ghosts and warlocks.

From DW: I got it. “Here's the thing,” I said. "I'm not going to be the government's bitch.

From close inspection, she noted the doors were locked with fingerprint scans. Every single one of them. She scratched her head. Well, then, she would have to cut someone’s finger off.

From her own life experience Keldaren knew that loveable hunks were in short supply anywhere in the galaxy, loveable hunks who knew her were an extinct species, and that more marketing companies than friends had her phone number.

Good to see you too, Otto." -Sydney Rose

Great job, you just executed Ben Franklin! - Otto Ray

Great Gates almighty,” HARV said inside my brain. “I go off-line for a few nanos and the whole world goes to DOS.

Guardando Gundam si ha la sensazione di assistere a una fiction televisiva corale, in cui uomini e donne fatti di carne e sangue combattono, muoiono, vivono e amano all'interno di un palcoscenico che seppur fittizio non ci appare affatto inverosimile. Le vicende legate all'Universal Century di Gundam, la linea temporale all'interno della quale trovano posto sia gli avvenimenti narrati nella serie classica sia le altre produzioni a essa collegate, ci conducono per mano tra i meandri di un altro universo.

Gaia giveth even as she taketh away. The warming of the global climate over the past century had melted permafrost and glaciers, shifted rainfall patterns, altered animal migratory routes, disrupted agriculture, drowned cities, and similarly necessitated a thousand thousand adjustments, recalibrations and hasty retreats. But humanity's unintentional experiment with the biosphere had also brought some benefits. Now we could grow oysters in New England. Six hundred years ago, oysters flourished as far north as the Hudson. Native Americans had accumulated vast middens of shells on the shores of what would become Manhattan. Then, prior to the industrial age, there was a small climate shift, and oysters vanished from those waters. Now, however, the tasty bivalves were back, their range extending almost to Maine. The commercial beds of the Cape Cod Archipelago produced shellfish as good as any from the heyday of Chesapeake Bay. Several large wikis maintained, regulated and harvested these beds, constituting a large share of the local economy. But as anyone might have predicted, wherever a natural resource existed, sprawling and hard of defense, poachers would be found.

Had she been kidnapped? If she had, they'd been very efficient, but why take her damn coffee? That was just cruel.

Hands up.” The voice was low, male, and carried a smoothness to the syllables. “I’ve always wanted to say that.

Gem thought it would be hilarious to shear his brother’s fine hair off while he was sleeping. Ever since then Menai decided he actually preferred the Mohawk. Both had inherited their mother’s Western Continent coloring, a blend of pearly white and sea grass green that set their bold sea-colored eyes off handsomely. And since they had grown old enough to realize this, they had become a pair of pre-pubescent manipulating terrors.

Guardo Edith, ormai avanti negli anni: dopo avermi cercato con gli occhi e trovato ai margini di quel giardino solatio, intento a scrivere sul mio solito quaderno rilegato di pelle lista e scolorita, mi scruta da lontano, lasciando affiorare un sorriso che le increspa appena le labbra. È lì e aspetta, come sempre, seduta nella sua poltrona preferita sotto il portico della candida villa in cui viviamo da vent’anni, immersa nel verde e nei fiori. Vorrei dirle che il problema non è nostro, ma del mondo, che non ama le cose semplici. Il mondo è un caos d’idee complicate che si fanno la guerra fra loro, senza lasciare spazio alla ragionevolezza, e a coloro che si lanciano in fantasticherie idealistiche non offre che buche in cui seppellirle, quando giunge il momento di raccoglierne i pezzi. Adesso che anche l’ultimo grande sogno è finito, un’altra Grande Guerra è alle porte. Se sarà ancora peggiore della precedente, probabilmente sarà l’ultima. (...) Sostando in piedi all’ombra del grande albero, Edith fissa un punto lontano, all’orizzonte, appoggiandosi alla staccionata bianca, e continua a fissarlo fin quasi a farsi lacrimare gli occhi.

Having solved all the major mathematical, physical, chemical, biological, sociological, philosophical, etymological, meteorological and psychological problems of the Universe except for his own, three times over, [Marvin] was severely stuck for something to do, and had taken up composing short dolorous ditties of no tone, or indeed tune. The latest one was a lullaby. Marvin droned, Now the world has gone to bed, Darkness won't engulf my head, I can see in infrared, How I hate the night. He paused to gather the artistic and emotional strength to tackle the next verse. Now I lay me down to sleep, Try to count electric sheep, Sweet dream wishes you can keep, How I hate the night.

HARV appeared in front of me, arms crossed, head tilted. “You really should read your e-mails from Randy more carefully,” he lectured. “I skim them,” I protested. “Well, if you skimmed them more carefully you would know that prolonged exposure to stealth mode may lead to side effects.” “I can handle . . .” “Impotence.” HARV smiled. “Oh,” I said. “Randy hasn’t really tested it on humans. It’s extra tough to get volunteers for those types of experiments,” HARV said. “Though he has computer simulated it and the results tend to support this conclusion.” “Let’s try to limit our use of stealth mode from now on,” I said.

HARV, can you help at all here?” I asked, spinning downward. “I am writing your obituary. Well, not so much writing it as updating it,” HARV told me. If I lived, I was going to kill HARV.

Having to amuse myself during those earlier years, I read voraciously and widely. Mythic matter and folklore made up much of that reading—retellings of the old stories (Mallory, White, Briggs), anecdotal collections and historical investigations of the stories' backgrounds—and then I stumbled upon the Tolkien books which took me back to Lord Dunsany, William Morris, James Branch Cabell, E.R. Eddison, Mervyn Peake and the like. I was in heaven when Lin Carter began the Unicorn imprint for Ballantine and scoured the other publishers for similar good finds, delighting when I discovered someone like Thomas Burnett Swann, who still remains a favourite. This was before there was such a thing as a fantasy genre, when you'd be lucky to have one fantasy book published in a month, little say the hundreds per year we have now. I also found myself reading Robert E. Howard (the Cormac and Bran mac Morn books were my favourites), Lovecraft, Clark Ashton Smith and finally started reading science fiction after coming across Andre Norton's Huon of the Horn. That book wasn't sf, but when I went to read more by her, I discovered everything else was. So I tried a few and that led me to Clifford Simak, Roger Zelazny and any number of other fine sf writers. These days my reading tastes remain eclectic, as you might know if you've been following my monthly book review column in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. I'm as likely to read Basil Johnston as Stephen King, Jeanette Winterson as Harlan Ellison, Barbara Kingsolver as Patricia McKillip, Andrew Vachss as Parke Godwin—in short, my criteria is that the book must be good; what publisher's slot it fits into makes absolutely no difference to me.

Hayt felt suddenly that he existed in a dream controlled by some other mind, and that he might momentarily forget this to become lost in the convolutions of that mind.

He didn't care if Matt made him cuddly or made him hornier than he'd ever been or even made him a lovesick fool. James was keeping him. Hopefully Matt would want to keep James too.

He carried emotional and mental scars as long-lasting and vivid as the whip marks on his body.

He glared at Lucian in the manner of birds, first peering through one eye and then turning his head to peer through the other, apparently finding both views equally loathsome.

He created waterfalls for her out of the morning dew, and from the colored pebbles of a meadow stream he made a necklace more beautiful than emeralds, sadder than pearls. She caught him in her net of silken hair, she carried him down, down, into deep and silent waters, past obliteration. He showed her frozen stars and molten sun; she gave him long, entwined shadows and the sound of black velvet. He reached out to her and touched moss, grass, ancient trees, iridescent rocks; her fingertips, striving upwards, brushed old planets and silver moonlight, the flash of comets and the cry of dissolving suns.

He grumbles incoherently, opens the window a fraction and continues to smoke away. It’s like every time Sidney Drake enters a new location he has to readjust the atmosphere, akin to one of those sci-fi shows where they oxygenate the planet, but for my dad it’s in a suffocating reverse. He replaces the clean wholesome air with a non-stop puff of toxic poison.

Help!" he yelled and he lifted one leg, trying to run. But you can't outrun the membrane — he was soon gone.

Her teeth clattered together like banging cymbals. Her fingernails glowed white, and her heart stuttered over two beats. “Input. It. Now.” “Done!” Let go, Nika. All you have to do is let go. She focused on her fingers, which seemed to be glued to the conduit, and directed every conscious process to willing them apart millimeter by— —she flew backward across the room and slammed into what remained of a wall.

Hello fake Everett children.

He loved the idea of paper, how the ink would fade and the paper would age. So finite, he would explain, just like life.

He’s a lovely guy, but there’s no spark between us whatsoever. It just goes to show, that even with all their fancy assessment tools, the government can’t legislate for chemistry.

He thinks perhaps there’s a reason our memories are kept hazy and out of focus. Maybe their abstraction serves as an anesthetic, a buffer protecting us from the agony of time and all that it steals and erases.

...he slipped into the hallway with a second-hand paperback copy of 'The Mote in God's Eye' under one arm, intending to read it in a quiet corner of Misto's coffee shop. He deemed the book to have previously been read on a sultry tropical beach, given that its yellowed pages were as corrugated as a ploughed field.

He’s a civilized, liberal-minded man - with the usual trouble of liberal-minded men; that they think others are, too. He has an interested, inquiring mind. He has never grasped that the average mind when it encounters something new is scared, and says: “Better smash it, or suppress it, quick.” Well, he’s just had another demonstration of the average mind at work.

He was usually on the fence lately when deciding how much to tell her about his side projects with Jack. Stopping an evil scientist he had not yet met, to be exact.

He turned to Matt and gave a huge smile, one hand on her withers. James reached out and pulled Matt to him, and they stood there in a little circle. It felt disconcertingly like… a family reunion. Matt turned away from James‟s bright smile and looked at Miz in something akin to horror. Was she their… child? Miz nipped him. Hard. While snorting horse mucus all over him. Damn thing couldn‟t even blow her own damn nose. Would she ever grow up?

He was six years old this time, and ancient.

His wax-white skin was cool to the touch when she brushed his neck to find the knot of cloth. She'd never been this close to a vampire,never realized what it would be like to be so near to someone who didn't breathe, who could be as still as any statue. His chest neither rose not fell. Her hands shook.

Hopis have lived in America longer than anyone. We wanted to explore the concept of Earthly visitation through the eyes of people who have also witnessed the rapid evolution of modern culture. For us, their beliefs ring true on so many levels. Hopi prophecy speaks to the destiny of man...in a universe where we are not alone.

How did I get where I am.” If your answer is anything but dumb luck then you are sadly deluding yourself.

History was an examination of the past, but there was no hope in the past, only sadness and despair. All she wanted to do was look ahead where the future was bright and blinding. And hers.

How, exactly, did I kill him? He died on the golf course.” One minute he’d been practicing his swing, and in the next—phzzt—a freak lightning bolt had hit him right in the nine iron. His shoes were still smoking when she reached him.

I admit you’ve all proved me wrong, thus far. But remember, at the time we were barely two centuries away from the SAI Rebellion, and the bloodbath we fled still burned bitterly in our souls. “The Anadens? They were not a peaceful people. Oh, they loved to climb up on their pillars and proclaim their evolutionary superiority. But when you got down to it, they took what they wanted, by force if necessary. They crushed dissent when it became inconvenient, as we learned the hard way. They were bullies and tyrants, and they were us.

His men had begun gathering the wounded or stunned into a small group some distance back up the slope. Here and there an animal or human stirred, but not many. There were few cries of pain or fear now. Mostly, it was eerily quiet. Even the insects had ceased their music.

His hand snapped shut over the device and then he crossed his arms. Aria stared in horror. Her Smarteye was buried in a Neanderthal’s armpit.

Humans are strange. … They value punishment because they think it means their actions are important—that they are important. … it's vanity.

I can almost see the processes whirrling clunkily in his singularix, as his excited nervous system battled with his logic circuits.

I am, like you, travelling along a road of absolute uncertainty and chaos. The only truth is that one day, we will all reach the end.

I ask of you your lives,” Elend said, voice echoing, “and your courage. I ask of you your faith, and your honor—your strength, and your compassion. For today, I lead you to die. I will not ask you to welcome this event. I will not insult you by calling it well, or just, or even glorious. But I will say this. “Each moment you fight is a gift to those in this cavern. Each second we fight is a second longer that thousands of people can draw breath. Each stroke of the sword, each koloss felled, each breath earned is a victory! It is a person protected for a moment longer, a life extended, an enemy frustrated!” There was a brief pause. “In the end, they will kill us,” Elend said, voice loud, ringing in the cavern. “But first, they shall fear us!

I don't know if you've ever been covered head to toe in prickle bush, but let me tell you, it's not a pleasant experience, as I'm sure you can imagine.