Klingon Love Quotes

You want me to be your spy in a game of restaurant espionage? Will I need a code name?" "It's nothing morally reprehensible or anything, " Wes hastened to assure her. "Just curiosity." "I think your code name should be Tiberius," she said decisively. "I'll be Uhura." "Tiberius? As in James Tiberius Kirk?" Wes blinked, then grinned. "Oh my God, this is your version of flirting. How do you say 'I fancy you' in Klingon?

Those are Klingon and Federation ships," I said. "You're a nerd, Shelton, but, holy crap, do I love this.

Georgians are a combination of Klingons and Apaches. They are warriors, men from another millennium who get along very well with the United States because they think the rest of Europe are a bunch of wimps.” The prominent highway between the airport and downtown Tbilisi, he noted, is named George W. Bush Street in honor of a 2005 visit by the American president. “They love Bush. He mispronounces words and starts wars. What’s not to like?

Nurse Cruickshank trundled off, thermometer gripped in her hand like she was expecting Klingons to appear from underneath the hospital beds. In my opinion, even if they had, she wouldn’t have needed to worry about anything. They would have either immediately started crooning love poetry or just prostrated themselves in respect for a terrible and vengeful Goddess.

Essay: Scientific Advances are Ruining Science Fiction I write science fiction thrillers for a living, set five to ten years in the future, an exercise that allows me to indulge my love of science, futurism, and philosophy, and to examine in fine granularity the impact of approaching revolutions in technology. But here is the problem: I’d love to write pure science fiction, set hundreds of years in the future. Why don’t I? I guess the short answer is that to do so, I’d have to turn a blind eye to everything I believe will be true hundreds of years from now. Because the truth is that books about the future of humanity, such as Kurzweil’s The Singularity is Near, have ruined me. As a kid, I read nothing but science fiction. This was a genre that existed to examine individuals and societies through the lens of technological and scientific change. The best of this genre always focused on human beings as much as technology, something John W. Campbell insisted upon when he ushered in what is widely known as the Golden Age of Science Fiction. But for the most part, writers in past generations could feel confident that men and women would always be men and women, at least for many thousands of years to come. We might develop technology that would give us incredible abilities. Go back and forth through time, travel to other dimensions, or travel through the galaxy in great starships. But no matter what, in the end, we would still be Grade A, premium cut, humans. Loving, lusting, and laughing. Scheming and coveting. Crying, shouting, and hating. We would remain ambitious, ruthless, and greedy, but also selfless and heroic. Our intellects and motivations in this far future would not be all that different from what they are now, and if we lost a phaser battle with a Klingon, the Grim Reaper would still be waiting for us.

He loves it all anyway, as his first life as a teenager never allowed. Everything is different this time. On Sundays his mother’s lengthy grace doesn’t grate on him. This time he savors each one At high school he recalls who wrote poetry in Klingon, who sold dope, who was really gay and thought nobody knew. Friends, long forgotten by his late forties. As they pass by him again, he has a sad appreciation of how fleeting it all is.