It is the purpose of the present paper, in part, to show that by use of thiotimoline, certain mental disorders can be quantitated and their diagnosis converted from an uncertain art to an exact science.
I’m sorry you had to see that, Fry. Usually I keep my sadness pent up inside where it can fester quietly as a mental illness.
“Do?” asked MacLyle cheerfully. “Why, I’m going out there and diminish mankind right back.” He was out in the corridor with the door closed before the psychiatrist so much as sat up. He banged it open again and leaned in. He said in the sanest of all possible voices, “Now mind you, doctor, this is only one man’s opinion,” and was gone. He killed four people before they got him.
“All the physicists on this list have committed suicide in the last two months,” General Chang said.
Each of us is aware he’s a material being, subject to the laws of physiology and physics, and that the strength of all our emotions combined cannot counteract those laws.
You know, Albert, sometimes you can be such a putz…
Shut up, Big-booty, you coward!! You are the weakest individual I ever know!
You’re too much of a coward to betray me.
Let’s say he does not know his cellmates’ subcells—Manuel, how many can he betray? Don’t say he won’t; today they can brainwash any person, and starch and iron and use him. How many?”
That’s the worst thing they do to you, to any of you. Whatever those brain lesions are all about, the worst damage is done before they even pick up the knife: You’re all brainwashed into believing you’re ugly.
We came for the knife. We’ll leave with it.
In one blurred motion, Stilgar had his crysknife out and pointed over the heads of the throng. “Long live Duke Paul-Muad’Dib!” he shouted. A deafening roar filled the cavern, echoed and re-echoed. They were cheering and chanting: “Ya hya chouhada! Muad’Dib! Muad’Dib! Muad’Dib! Yahya chouhada!"
The docking bay was now a seething sea of people. It rang to babble, and cheers, and cheerful hoots, and foot stamping. These soon picked up rhythm; a chant. “Naismith! Naismith! Naismith…”
Lord John Whorfin:
Where are we going?
Red Lectroids:
Planet Ten!
Lord John Whorfin:
When?
Red Lectroids:
Real soon!
She pushed her way impatiently through the throngs of gormless travelers choking the spaceport, desperation beading on her brow. She could feel her heart pumping in her chest, getting faster and faster as the panic set in. Panic that she wouldn’t make it.
“I sailed upon oceans, and I thought no challenge could be greater, and now men sail the void between stars. Oh, how I remember them. The constellations burning so bright at night. How could I ever have known? God’s creation has a majesty which lays men bare at his feet.”
When they signed up for the Emigration Board tickets Bob had joked: “A six month cruise? After a vacation like that we’ll be happy to get back to work!”—but somehow the sheer immensity of it all didn’t sink in until the fourth week out of sight of land. In those four weeks they’d crawled an expanse of ocean wider than the Pacific, pausing to refuel twice from huge rust-colored barges: and still they were only a sixth of the way to Continent F-204, New Iowa, immersed like the ultimate non-sequitur in the ocean that replaced the world’s horizons on October 2, 1962.
You think you’re unworthy to lead because you’re of different worlds. But that is exactly why you are worthy. You are the bridge between land and sea.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come it.”
“No, the bridge is too well-guarded.”
I am a Ranger. We walk in the dark places no others will enter. We stand on the bridge and no one may pass. We live for the One, we die for the One.