Artemis Andy Weir Quotes

On a scale from one to ‘invade Russia in winter,’ how stupid is this plan?

It’s a simple idiot-proofing scheme that’s very effective. But no idiot-proofing can overcome a determined idiot.

A clumsy, awkward success is still a success.

Five a.m. was a largely theoretical concept to me. I knew it existed, but I rarely observed it.

People will trust a reliable criminal more readily than a shady businessman.

How dare you call me lazy? I'd come up with a scathing retort but, meh, I'm just not motivated.

I knew what I had to do—I just didn’t like it. I’d have to blow the remaining two at the same time. Please don’t quote that last sentence out of context.

The overstimulated kids were literally bouncing off the walls. Lunar gravity is the worst thing to ever happen to parents.

By the way, we also hate it when people . . . call Artemis "the city in space." We're not in space; we're on the moon. I'm mean, technically, we're in space, but so is London.

God damn it! I yelled to him. Will you stop wining about your problems during my murder!

If my neighborhood were wine, connoisseurs would describe it as “shitty, with overtones of failure and poor life decisions.

I didn't want to spend any more time inside the mind of an economist. It was dark and disturbing.

And if you want to make babies, somebody's got to get fucked.

Very few people get a chance to quantify how much their father loves them. But I did. The job should have taken forty-five minutes, but Dad spent three and a half hours on it. My father loves me 366 percent more than he loves anything else. Good to know.

And like all good plans, it required a crazy Ukrainian guy.

My cart is a pain in the ass to control, but it’s good at carrying heavy things. So I decided it was male. I named him Trigger.

Quality is quality,” Jin said. “Age is irrelevant. No one bitches about Shakespeare fans.

There was something weird about being on the moon and fighting for your life with a stick and some fire.

But no idiot-proofing can overcome a determined idiot.

It’s all part of the life-cycle of an economy. First it’s lawless capitalism until that starts to impede growth. Next comes regulation, law enforcement, and taxes. After that: public benefits and entitlements. Then, finally, overexpenditure and collapse.

That’s the thing about crying yourself to sleep. When you wake up, the problems are still there.

I envy one thing about Earthers—they get much faster internet.

It’s important to vary your profanities. If you use the same one too often it loses strength.

You don’t expect J. Worthalot Richbastard III to clean his own toilet, do you? I’m one of the little people.

There’s no more powerful tool for safety than communication.

I live in Conrad Down 15, a grungy area fifteen floors underground in Conrad Bubble. If my neighborhood were wine, connoisseurs would describe it as “shitty, with overtones of failure and poor life decisions.

The moon’s a mean old bitch. She doesn’t care why your suit fails. She just kills you when it does.

The city shined in the sunlight like a bunch of metallic boobs. What? I'm not a poet. They look like boobs.

Will you stop whining about your problems during my murder?!

(Only Americans wear Hawaiian shirts on the moon.)

Her hair was a loose ponytail, the universal sign of not giving a fuck.

Shit! Damn! Crap! Ass! Son of a bitch!” It’s important to vary your profanities.

Hey, if you want to play life safe, don’t live on the moon.

Nothing like a language barrier to make people leave you alone.

Probably hadn't been a good idea to get wasted in the middle of all this shit, but as I've established, I make poor life choices.

Were you followed?” “Of course,” I said. “And I led them straight to you. Turns out I’m not very bright.” “Smartass.” “Dumbass.

Earthers hate our coffee. Physics dictates that it tastes like shit.

When you can’t get off the ground in the moon’s gravity, you are seriously out of it.

I might have been on the run for my life, but I wasn't willing to go without e-mail.

Dear Jazz, Maybe you can do it in your head. I would give anything to be as smart as you. But I’m not. That’s okay. I work hard instead, and you’re lazy as hell.

Hartnell's was for drinking. And you could get any drink you wanted, as long as it was beer.

Every city needs an underbelly. It’s best to let the petty criminals do their thing and focus on bigger issues

Nope. It's one of the stupidest things I've ever done. And that's a field of intense competition.

I had this bad habit of checking my bank account every day, as if compulsively looking at it would make it grow.

Water boils at 61 degrees Celsius here, so that’s as hot as tea or coffee can be. Apparently it’s disgustingly cold to people who aren’t used to it.

The moon is a nice place to pass out. You hit the ground very gently.

He's right, Dad. I am an asshole. But Artemis needs an asshole right now and I got drafted.

If you commit a serious crime, Artemis deports you to the victim’s country. Let their nation exact revenge on you for it.

I don’t want a job. When I grow up I want to be rich.

I've always been a fan of science fiction. I grew up watching Star Trek. Now I get to live it!" "Star Trek?" Trond asked. "Seriously? That's like a hundred years old." "Quality is quality," Jin said. "Age is irrelevant. No one bitches about Shakespeare fans.

When flint strikes steel, it knocks microscopic flecks of metal into the air. The metal burns because of some complicated crap related to surface area and oxidization rates. Basically, it rusts so fast that the reaction heat makes fire.

...They do their thing and stay out of my way while I run my smelter. A smelter I poured my life and soul into, which you just destroyed, you reckless puddle of exudate!" "Don't think I won't look that up!

My cart is a pain in the ass to control, but it’s good at carrying heavy things. So I decided it was male.

We don’t have jails or fines. If you commit a serious crime, we exile you to Earth.

I’ll give you a million slugs.” “Deal.

But by the end of it I had a plan. And like all good plans, it required a crazy Ukrainian guy.

I think you invented new swearwords,” said Dale. “Like… what’s a ‘funt’?” “I think it’s pretty clear from context,” I said.

Listen, assholes," he said. "I'm too gay to enjoy this catfight. Knock it off or I'll bash your heads together.

All that hydrogen had met the oxygen at high temperature and they’d had a brief chat.

Ready for depress?' Dale asked via the radio. 'Pretty depressed, yeah,' I said.

Armstrong Bubble sits in the middle, surrounded by Aldrin, Conrad, Bean, and Shepard.

First off, Dad, it's not petty vandalism. It's extreme vandalism.

Hell, if we learned anything from “The Phantom Menace” it’s this: Never start a sci-fi story with a description of complex macroeconomics.

blond as a Hitler wet dream.

He hadn’t expected a woman to recommend hookers. Earthers tend to be uptight on that topic, and I’ve never understood why. It’s a service performed for a payment. What’s the big deal?

Ready for depress?” Dale asked via the radio. “Pretty depressed, yeah,” I said. “Don’t joke around. Not with airlock procedures.” “Sheesh, you really suck the air out of the room, you know that?” “Jazz!

You're totally going to bang that guy." "Oh, shut up!" "A thousand slugs says you two get freaky within a month." I glared at him. He glared back. "Well?" he asked. I finished off my pint. "No bet." "Ha!

Yeah, she was grumpy and thought I was a bimbo. But you know what? I wish everyone was like her. No chitchat, no bullshit, no pretense of friendship. Just goods and services exchanged for money. The perfect business partner.

The patch was thin, so you’d think it would melt first, but physics doesn’t work that way. Before the temperature could get up to the patch’s melting point of 1530°C, everything that could melt at a lower temperature had to melt first. And the melting point of the smelter walls was 1450°C. So, even though the patch was thin and the smelter was thick, the bottom of the smelter would give out before the patch got anywhere near its melting point. Don’t believe me? Put ice water in a saucepan and cook it. The water temperature will stay at 0°C until the last ice cube melts.

You don’t expect J. Worthalot Richbastard III to clean his own toilet, do you?

A frumpy Midwestern woman giggled at her window and turned to me. “Isn’t it amazing?! We’re on the moon!

My coffin isn't going to be featured in Better Homes and Moonscapes anytime soon, but it's all I can afford.

I was there every day and my sparkling personality was hard to forget.

Well, if it isn’t Jazz Bashara!” said a nearby asshole. He acted like we were friends. We weren’t friends.

Travel’s a bitch. Even when it’s a once-in-a-lifetime vacation

If my neighborhood were wine, connoisseurs would describe it as “shitty, with overtones of failure and poor life decisions

Goddamn, it’s annoying to commit crimes in a small town.

But a city can’t just be rich tourists and eccentric billionaires. It needs working-class people too. You don’t expect J. Worthalot Richbastard III to clean his own toilet, do you?

Himmelen er ikke grensen. It means ‘The sky is not the limit.’ 

Anyone who makes you money is a friend,

The thing that sucks about life-or-death situations is how boring they can be.

She looked to the ceiling. “Between their financial base and physical enforcers, they’ll own the city. Think Chicago in the 1920s, but a hundred times worse. I’ll be powerless.

Important note: Do not pee in a graywater-reuse shower.

The damn fool had brought a digital projector and roll-up screen. He connected his Gizmo and, as usual with technology, it didn’t work. Unfazed, he twiddled settings. Happy as a pig in shit.

Fuck you!" Randy pulled a squirt bottle from his desk and sprayed us both. "Hush," he said. Jin winced "Now, that's just unprofessional!" "Quit bitching," I said, shaking the water off my face. "You may be used to taking shots in the face, but I'm not," he said. Okay, that was a good one. "Go fuck yourself," I said.

That’s what smelting is, really. Removing oxygen to get pure metal. Most people don’t know it, but there’s a ridiculous amount of oxygen on the moon. You just need a shitload of energy to get it.

I had no idea what the juice was, but I went ahead and drank it. Turns out it was reconstituted carrot-apple juice. It tasted like shit. Who the hell puts those things together? Ukrainians, apparently.

Don’t worry about it.” I climbed out of the basin and dropped four meters to the ground. I pulled a chair toward me, spun it around, and straddled it. I rested my chin on my palm and got lost in thought. Trond sidled over. “So?” “Thinking,” I said. “Do women know how sexy they look when they sit like that?” “Of course.” “I knew it!” “Trying to concentrate.” “Sorry.

That’s the ceremonial uniform,” I said. “I mean a duty uniform. Light shirt, dark pants with a yellow stripe?” “Oh, Han Solo pants. Yeah, he had those on.” “Okay, thanks.” Pfft. Han Solo’s pants have a red stripe. And it’s not even a stripe—it’s a bunch of dashes. Some people have no education.

Dale raised his glass. “Mr. Bashara.” Dad gave him a cold stare. “Dale.” “I forget,” said Dale, “do you hate me because I’m gay or because I’m Jewish?” “I hate you because you broke my daughter’s heart.” “Fair.” Dale polished off his beer. Dad sat next to me. “So a Muslim walks into a bar…” I said.

I panted in my suit and suppressed the urge to puke. That was way the hell more exertion than I’m built for. An oxygen-deprivation headache took root. It’d be with me for a few hours, at least. I’d managed to get altitude sickness on the moon.

I value my life more than yours. Sue me. We wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t been so blatantly obvious with your sabotage!” “Fuck you!” Rudy pulled a squirt bottle from his desk and sprayed us both. “Hush,” he said. Jin winced “Now, that’s just unprofessional!

That’s when I noticed the damage on the door. Just a little scuffing at the edge. Right about where you’d put a crowbar if you wanted to break in. I winced. “Aww, come on…” I pushed open the door and peeked into the foyer. No sign of Irina or Trond. A decorative vase lay on the ground next to its usual display pedestal. A splash of bright-red blood on the wall— “Nope!” I said. I spun on my heel and stormed back into the hallway. “Nope, nope, nope!

Yes, collapse. An economy is a living thing. It's born full of vitality and dies once it's rigid and worn out. Then, through necessity, people break into smaller economic groups and the cycle begins anew, but with more economies. Baby economies, like Artemis is right now." "Huh," I said. "And if you want to make babies, somebody's got to get fucked.

I thought I was far enough from the explosion but no, not even close. Chunks of twisted metal bashed my boulder while smaller bits of wreckage rained from above. “Oh, right,” I said. I’d forgotten to account for the other explosive in there: the hydrogen fuel-cell battery. All that hydrogen had met the oxygen at high temperature and they’d had a brief chat.

I still had the breather mask and portable oxygen supply. But now I added a pair of goggles from the duffel. They’d be important for what came next. I duct taped both the mask and goggles to my face—I needed an airtight seal this time. So now I was a mud-covered freak with random shit taped to my face. I probably looked like something out of a horror movie. Oh well. I was about to be horrible.

I headed to the waiting area next to the train airlock and joined a crowd of tourists. All the seats were taken and dozens more people stood around. Several families had obnoxious kids bouncing off the walls. In this case, “bouncing off the walls” is not just a figure of speech. The overstimulated kids were literally bouncing off the walls. Lunar gravity is the worst thing to ever happen to parents.

it required a crazy Ukrainian guy. ... “Svoboda” I said. “Condoms only cost fifty slugs. Why would anyone buy this?” He grinned. “It’s reusable!” A disturbing thought popped into my head. “Wait. Have you used this one?” “No, but it wouldn’t matter if I had. The cleaning process renders it sterile.” “Are you kidd—” I stopped myself and took a breath. Then, as calmly as I could, I said, “It would matter, Svoboda. Maybe not biologically, but psychologically.

Okay, good." He leaned down and kissed my cheek, almost as an afterthought. I had no idea what possessed him to do that - honestly I didn't think he had it in him. His bravery didn't last long, though. Once he realized what he'd done, his face became a mask of terr. "Oh shit! I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking-" I laughed. The look in the poor guy's eyes... I couldn't help it. "Relax, Svobo. It's just a peck on the cheek. It's nothing to get worked up about." "R-Right. Yeah." I put my hand on the nape of his neck, pulled his head to mine, and kissed him full on the lips. A good, long kiss with no ambiguity. When we disengaged, he looked hopelessly confused. "Now, that," I said. "That you can get worked up about.

I see. And do you have this client’s room number?” “Nah.” “Do you have his Gizmo ID?” “Nah.” I pulled a compact out of my handbag and checked my ruby-red lipstick. “I’m sorry, madam”—she looked me up and down—“I’m unable to help you if you don’t have his room number or some other proof that you’ve been invited.” I shot her a bitchy glare (I’m good at that). “Oh, he wants me here all right. For an hour.” I set the compact on her desk and fished around in my handbag. She leaned away from the compact like she might catch a disease from it. I pulled out a piece of paper and read: “Jin Chu. Canton Artemis. Arcade District. Aldrin Bubble.” I put the paper away. “Just call the fuckin’ guy, okay? I got other customers after this.