“Hey, Tracy you army brat, I think it’s for you!”

“Why should we, the brains of the military, have so much anxiety about our contribution to the war that we feel we have to ape Special Forces guys?To Fitzgerald commandos were just glorified jocks - pitchers and quarterbacks from suburban high schools who traded baseballs for bullets. There's no doubt they had skills. They could slither right up to the enemy on their stomachs survive on worms for days and plunk a target with a piece of lead from a mile away. All very impressive. But they couldn't speak Arabic or juggle a million intelligence requirements and 703 follow-up questions from the community while sitting three feet away from some Islamic firebrand who has no reason to talk."Do you think those Special Forces guys are wracked with Interrogator envy?" Fitzgerald would say. "You think they're over there in their special sunglasses polishing their special weapons saying 'man if only I could do some hot-shit interrogations and write some hot-shit reports?”

“Actually, the gap between say Plato or Nietzsche and the average human is greater than the gap between that chimpanzee and the average human.”

“Today it’s nice to be able to entertain odd thoughts without having to marry them all. Thank God. I can think whatever the hell I want. Entertaining odd thoughts won’t make you crazy. Refusing to entertain odd thoughts won’t make you well.”

“I think prime numbers are like life. They are very logical but you could never work out the rules, even if you spent all your time thinking about them”

“The Prince of Arrow has a much bigger army than you," Miana said. No "Your Highness" no "My Lord.""Yes, he does." I kept waving to the crowd, the big smile on my face."He's going to win, isn't he?" she said. She looked twelve but she didn't sound twelve."How old are you?" I asked, a quick glance down at her, still waving."Twelve."Damn.”

“Hey, it's me. Just checking if you were dead. If you aren't, call me. If you are, call me anyway.”