“Chingón hadn’t survived a thousand battles by being stupid. He had survived them by exploding people.”

“I survive all those battles," she growled, "and I get defeated by a stupid chunk of rock!”

“There were two choices in life. Survive or succumb. And most people weren’t even conscious of the path they chose. Because they chose for all the wrong reasons. Love, principles, dreams, desire. The world hadn’t changed. It had always been survival of the fittest.”

“It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years. ”

“ 'So this is it' he thought. After everything he had been through, after all the mysteries and fighting and fleeting moments of hope, they were just going to kill him with some sort of poison gas? Stupid, that was what this was. Stupid. He had battled Grievers and Cranks, survived a gunshot and infection. WICKED. They were the ones who'd saved him. And now they were just going to gas him to death?”

“Diversity is a survival factor for the community itself. A community of a hundred million species can survive anything short of total global catastrophe. Within that hundred million will be thousands that could survive a global temperature drop of twenty degrees—which would be a lot more devastating than it sounds. Within that hundred million will be thousands that could survive a global temperature rise of twenty degrees. But a community of a hundred species or a thousand species has almost no survival value at all.”