Panty Melter: an exceedingly rare species of man blessed with so many desirable attributes he effortlessly gains access into a girl's panties.
Time moves in one direction, memory another. We are that strange species that constructs artifacts intended to counter the natural flow of forgetting.
There is a psychospiritual disease of the soul that originates within ourselves and that has the potential to destroy our species or to wake us up, depending on whether or not we recognize what it is revealing to us.
I'm getting the impression that women, in any form, scare you." He shrugged. "They're the more violent species. And unpredictable. I'd rather take on a wild boar. You can't shoot women.
The Auditors fluttered anxiously. And, as always happens in their species when something goes radically wrong and needs fixing instantly, they settled down to try to work how who was to blame.
All species capable of grasping this fact manage better in the struggle for existence than those which rely upon their own strength alone: the wolf, which hunts in a pack, has a greater chance of survival than the lion, which hunts alone.
As a species, we are most animated when our days and nights on Earth are touched by the natural world. We can find immeasurable joy in the birth of a child, a great work of art, or falling in love.
Man is a moral animal abandoned in an amoral universe and condemned to a finite existence with no other prupose than to perpetuate the natural cycle of the species.
The fly lands on the swatter. The movie runs backwards and catches fire in the projector. This species apes us well by talking only about itself
The real problem with the art world is not the money men scavenging in its wake - they've always been there - but the pirates who've taken over the ship. I am thinking, of course, of that awful art world species: the curator.
Handsome hero wanted. Brave in the face of certain danger. Must be willing to get naked with other species. At least six-inch penis required. Fee is negotiable.
[A]ny species that exempts itself from the rules of competition ends up destroying the community in order to support its own expansion.
That?" I glanced back to the door where JT had disappeared. "That was Genus Homo, species , subspecies . Let us move on to the cages with the interesting animals." --Jacob "Yasha" Livingston
I look forward to the day when the solar system becomes our collective backyard—explored not only with robots, but with the mind, body, and soul of our species.
As a species we're doomed by hope, then? You could call it hope. That, or desperation. But we're doomed without hope, as well, said Jimmy. Only as individuals, said Crake cheerfully.
Has Westhaven taken to gossiping?" "He has not, but like most men, you assume the only communications of significance pass between the males of the species.
Never miss an opportunity to be truly and deeply humiliated! The shame will carve you down to an individual of exquisite layering, and in the process, etch within you the arcs of exceptional narrative.
Etchings endure, But not in Sand Meanings Collide To Unresolved Fragments Codes fizzle to Static They are not lost But Unheard Never lost Fading slowly to Silence By infinite degrees
Nothing is easier than to admit in words the truth of the universal struggle for life, or more difficult--at least I have found it so--than constantly to bear this conclusion in mind.
...men are much softer than women, more sentimental. They cry at the movies and pretend not to. The male of the species is weak. He doesn’t tolerate pain well.
Interesting, but she could see that the boy didn't have a single lie in him. A very rare condition, especially for the male of the species.
