Sci Fi Love Quotes

I'm so proud of you I could burst, but in the interest of saving the poor cleaning staff the hassle, I would, instead, like to take you to our room and lick you from stem to stern until you beg me to stop.

Why do you have such faith in me, Aurelia?"  "I've told you a million times that I love you, you make me feel safe and cherished, and you care deeply for our people. Why wouldn't I have faith in you?

Laugh as much as you breathe and love as long as you live.

A ray of sunlight poked through the mass of angry clouds.

A celestial wizard doesn’t destroy celestial bodies. She bends them.

Ketal is not hell! It’s the K’tul homeworld. What is the difference?

Sunny, a silver boy of nine, daydreams of rescuing two princesses: “The princesses’ savior was a gallant knight. No! A prince! The valiant prince was surprisingly young. And silvered.

He shredded my wings with his words.

We Yandar are winged. We don’t succumb to adversity; we fly with it.

People should decide on the books' meanings for themselves. They'll find a story that attacks such things as cruelty, oppression, intolerance, unkindness, narrow-mindedness, and celebrates love, kindness, open-mindedness, tolerance, curiosity, human intelligence.

Everyone on Earth knows there’s no love as strong as a mother’s love. 

Later, I would understand more fully how deep and enduring the love of a mother for her child can be, but at that time, I just knew she felt something coming, something dangerous.

I know the next year will be trying, but you must keep faith." His eyes bore into mine, and I fear he can see into my very soul.

Night vision. Unclip your bows. Ready. Fly.” 

I will be the Vampire Lestat for all to see. A symbol, a freak of nature - something loved, something despised all of those things. I tell you I can't give it up. I can't miss. And quite frankly I am not in the least afraid." - Lestat, The Vampire Lestat, p. 532

HANG THE LAW AND FUCK THE RULES! Where is your love for others? Where is your compassion? All these warriors want is a chance to serve. Doesn’t their love supersede your rules?

What If I still want to go?" "Then you'll go," he said. "But I wanted you to know the danger." "There's always danger." His green eyes met mine. I was starting to see It, how It could happen-Caleb and me.

Because it all derived from Superman. I mean, I love all the characters, but Superman is just this perfect human pop-culture distillation of a really basic idea. He's a good guy. He loves us. He will not stop in defending us. How beautiful is that? He's like a sci-fi Jesus. He'll never let you down. And only in fiction can that guy actually exist, because real guys will always let you down one way or another. We actually made up an idea that beautiful. That's just cool to me. We made a little paper universe where all of the above is true.

I will continue to write what I love to read, and the fact that it doesn't sell as well as romance or sci-fi or fantasy isn't the point.

What is love of one's country; is it hate of one's uncountry? Then it's not a good thing. Is it simply self-love? That's a good thing, but one musn't make a virtue of it, or a profession...Insofar as I love life, I love [my country], but that sort of love does not have a boundary-line of hate. And beyond that, I am ignorant, I hope.

I see you have returned, my love; and your mood is as dark as ever. Did your soldiers not adore you to your complete satisfaction?

Don’t do anything harsh, Arrov,” I say. “You’ll kill him!” Callum smirks. “No, he won’t.”
“Yes, he will,” Teague says.

He craned his neck and sniffed at the puffball. “It is a dog,” he confirmed. “Hey! Come on, time to go,” he barked at the animal, foraging in its woolly thicket of fur and finding a leg to pull. “How dare you!” squealed a thin voice. “How dare you insult the great, the magnificent, the incomparable Pom.

His wife waved him farewell with a smile but, deep down, she had to admit that sometimes, when the night was dark and the winds stopped singing, she regretted ever meeting him, and that was true love.

Who knew that you would be The One," I smile, "which I guess makes me your Trinity." "My Amidala." "Your Zira." "My Sylvia." "Your..." I scour my brain, trying to remember some other great sci-fi love interest. "Ha! I'm your Saphira," I settle back smugly, only for Trevor to start laughing. "Saphira is a dragon.

We all love after-the-bomb stories. If we didn't, why would there be so many of them? There's something attractive about all those people being gone, about wandering in a depopulated world, scrounging cans of Campbell's pork and beans, defending one's family from marauders. But some secret part of us thinks it would be good to survive. All those other folks will die. That's what after-the-bomb stories are all about.

I don't want to die without telling you that I love you," Everett's voice was a faint, wavering whisper, and his lips swollen and bloodied. "I always have.

I love sex. I love thinking about it, I love doing it, and I love the feeling I get afterwards.

If I could describe myself, I'd say that I am a poetic gerd. (A geek and nerd combo) I love Shakespeare and romance, but sci-fi and action have a big slice of my heart. When I meet a man who can quote some Hitchcock out of thin air, do a perfect ''Timey Whimey'' impression, play me some classic rock when I'm sad and can give a 'Gone with the Wind' kiss, I will have my soul mate.

I know your fingertips will love gliding across the silk, from my toes all the way up my thighs, teasing what lies just beyond, before claiming it as yours.

No, I don't party; no, I don't dress in black leather and chains; that's not my style. That's how I was raised. I worry about getting good grades and I go to church and I watch sci-fi movies and I generally follow the rules. Most people would call me a geek or a nerd. You've called me that many times. But that isn't everything that defines me. I mean, look at me, sitting here in a rainstorm under a tree that's probably going to kill us when the lightning hits it, holding the hand of a pretty cool girl who really is the opposite of me, a girl that I happen to be in love with. A girl I couldn't have imagined would want to be with me. But here she is, letting me hold her hand, trying to tell me why she isn't good enough for me. That's crazy.

He’s a lovely guy, but there’s no spark between us whatsoever. It just goes to show, that even with all their fancy assessment tools, the government can’t legislate for chemistry.

This choice you make, if it’s real, born out of the love your mother left for you and your family deserves, if it’s made by the part of you that can only be honest, even when facing death, yours will be a life worth the world and everything in it. If this is the Erelim you’ll become, my Cae, then your failures and sins, your misgiving and crimes, will never stop me from loving you.

Because I am miserable and so viciously in love with her, I eat the soup.

My soul lightened as I realized I could help her. I rolled her body flat, like Grandpa taught me. I swept my finger inside her cold mouth to make sure her breathing passage was open, and I placed my mouth on hers, carefully pinching her nose, and breathed life into her lungs. Betsy stirred, sputtered a cough, and opened her eyes. “Now you kiss me?” she said, so weakly I could barely hear her.

Memories and emotions could be the greatest form of torture.

I loved him, but he didn't want me anymore. I suffered, and he laughed at my umanity. This desire will be my end.

I can't explain my feelings for him...they're strange. But he says it is why we are so much alike, why I dream of him. He calls it The Craving.

«“Looks like your sci-fi prediction came true right away, Xavier.” “That can be gratifying,” mused the novelist. “But not all the time.”»

Ceri loves Sci-Fi - " Game of Thrones " also - Harry Hole , Lisbeeth Salander, Funky Scando Fiction, Supports Swans, Nirvana,

Loving someone means making sacrifices for them.

Where there is great love there is great harmony of thought.

«I love both her and them. I have come to understand that she is what they are. A woman accepts a man, expecting that he will change. A man takes a woman, expecting that she will never change. They are both disappointed. Yet within this very disappointment is the primal source of all new men and all new women»

Raising a child puts you in touch, deeply, inescapably, daily, with some pretty heady issues: What is love and how do we get ours? Why does the world contain evil and pain and loss? How can we discover dignity and tolerance? Who is in power and why? What’s the best way to resolve conflict? If we want to give an AI any major responsibilities, then it will need good answers to these questions. That’s not going to happen by loading the works of Kant into a computer’s memory; it’s going to require the equivalent of good parenting.

And it is a strange thing about love... it is that it can take a strength that would seem otherwise insignificant and transform it into a hardly quenchable power.

It wasn't premeditated. It was what needed to be done. So I did it.

No, love, in real life you can get all the way to death and never have finished one single story.

Human activity has brought my kind to the brink of extinction, but I don’t blame them for it. They didn’t do it maliciously. They just weren’t paying attention. And humans create such beautiful myths; what imaginations they have. Perhaps that’s why their aspirations are so immense. Look at Arecibo. Any species who can build such a thing must have greatness within them. My species probably won’t be here for much longer; it’s likely that we’ll die before our time and join the Great Silence. But before we go, we are sending a message to humanity. We just hope the telescope at Arecibo will enable them to hear it. The message is this: You be good. I love you.

In the beginning," Scripture taught, "there was the Word," and Danny would come to believe that the two great gifts his God had given to the species He loved were time, which divides experience, and language, which binds the past to the future.

If I got to pick anyone, anyone at all, to be stranded on a deserted planet with, it would be you, I always want to be with you. And not just... not just to talk to. When you touch me... I don't want you to stop.

Cannot you see, cannot all you lecturers see, that it is we that are dying, and that down here the only thing that really lives is the Machine? We created the Machine, to do our will, but we cannot make it do our will now. It has robbed us of the sense of space and of the sense of touch, it has blurred every human relation and narrowed down love to a carnal act, it has paralysed our bodies and our wills, and now it compels us to worship it. The Machine develops — but not on our lines. The Machine proceeds — but not to our goal. We only exist as the blood corpuscles that course through its arteries, and if it could work without us, it would let us die.

Many reviews are useless because, while purporting to condemn the book, they only reveal the reviewer's dislike of the kind to which it belongs. Let bad tragedies be censured by those who love tragedy, and bad detective stories by those who love the detective story. Then we shall learn their real faults. Otherwise we shall find epics blamed for not being novels, farces for not being high comedies, novels by James for lacking the swift action of Smollett. Who wants to hear a particular claret abused by a fanatical teetotaller, or a particular woman by a confirmed misogynist?

Thank you father, thank you. I know you watched me from above and protected me. I promise I shall serve the Magnarian Confederation with all my body and soul. I shall dedicate myself fully to our confederation, the family that you so loved. And I love it too. I shall protect, love and respect it always. This is my promise and commitment. Thank you

each man braces his fear against his love. What you love may change. But if you love still, your fear remains

Any male who uses brutality on a weaker female who has no chance of defense is a coward.

And if you lose the willingness, what do you have?

The death has an only color.

She was no helpless female – never had been. She was death clothed in a body of female allure and fiercely proud of it. But in sex, she needed the surrender. She craved a man strong enough to take the control out of her hands. I hunger to be dominated, for someone who doesn’t see me as a ball-busting female. She would yield everything to a man masterful enough to command her obedience. But she had never found one strong enough – or discreet enough. It wouldn’t do for the Blue Daggers to know their commander wanted domination during sex. Most of all, she had never found anyone she could trust with her desires who didn’t try to crush her – body and soul. Disappointment had followed disappointment until she had quit looking. To find strength paired with sensitivity, or dominance tempered with love? It didn’t seem to exist.

Readers of history may decide that joking while two guys are driving around through a town that has recently been slaughtered by six-foot-tall praying mantis beasts with shark-tooth-studded arms is in poor taste. It is. But that is exactly what real boys have always done when confronted with the brutal aftermath of warfare.

Join me for a moment in trying to imagine a life so rich and varied that you cannot remember shooting an actress at a sci-fi convention while wearing a tribble costume and then being wrestled to the ground by a security team.

«“So, Sally, what’s new around here?” “Jeff Bezos just sold off two million shares.” “So, why would our sci-fi paperback bookseller need to sell that much Amazon stock?” “I think Jeff needs the cash for his private space rocket.”»

An Odonian undertook monogamy just as he might undertake a joint enterprise in production, a ballet or a soap-works. Partnership was a voluntarily constituted federation like any other. So long as it worked, it worked, and if it didn't work it stopped being. It was not an institution but a function. It had no sanction but that of private conscience.

I need the money, people are very coy about money, and the ladies arent just coy, they are sci fi about money… …people ask, well, dont sweet things happen? yes, indeed, many sweet things, but sweet doesnt keep you from dying, making love doesnt keep you from dying unless you get paid, writing doesnt keep you from dying unless you get paid, being wise doesnt keep you from dying unless you get paid, facts are facts, being poor makes you face facts which also does not keep you from dying.

There was nothing funny about the situation, but I laughed anyway. I'd done the same thing during Grandpa Andy's funeral. Busted out laughing right during Father Diaz's opening prayer. I apologized to Gamma Evelyn afterward, and she told me it was okay. That life was ridiculous and absurd, and sometimes the only way to keep it from overwhelming us was to laugh right in its face.

In many ways sci-fi is a natural progression from the magical worlds we inhabited as children. Speculative fiction opens up parallel universes to which we can escape and exercise our love for all things beyond our ken. close off these speculative worlds at your peril.

In my experience, a lot of the boys who are real computer-heads tend to be pale-skinned sci-fi fans. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—I happen to be a pale-skinned sci-fi fan myself—but that doesn’t mean I have to fancy other seethrough geeks. So let’s hope Adam isn’t as picky as me.

We won’t let them take us,” he vowed. Ava cupped his face in her hands. “I love you, Jak’ri.” Dipping his head, he brushed his lips against hers in a tender caress. “I love you, too. More with every breath I take.” Desire flared to life as she drew him down for another kiss, this one deeper, hotter, and pulse-poundingly arousing. “Make me forget,” she pleaded, between teasing strokes of her tongue. “Make me forget everything but us and the way I feel when I’m in your arms.

He wanted to blame the books, the sci-fi, but he couldn’t—he loved them too much.

I’m a realist. Optimism and pessimism are both skewed. It’s not hard to balance all the factors. What’s difficult is measuring how much weight to assign to minor details.

The day is crisp and clear, almost like every other morning he's taken the same walk in the snow, hiking to the forest and back.

My fingers find his. They are warm, pulsing with genetically altered blue blood, powered by mirror matter.

Lemme tell you a Titan truth. An hour ago, you were a virgin," he declared. "Yes, of course," I confirmed. In his possessive dream world. I loved being a part of that world.

He loved the idea of paper, how the ink would fade and the paper would age. So finite, he would explain, just like life.

Words wouldn’t come, so I used my body to show her. And if she didn’t understand that I loved her, then I’d show her again tomorrow.

And I am sure that in the end, love is what will save us all.

And those who have read the trilogy tend to number it among the unapproachables—just some of those books that are simply too strange and fantastical and, well, weird to really like. I love this series deeply, but I still relate to those people. On the surface, the Ransom Trilogy bears the marks of a sci-fi adventure. But then there are all those philosophical passages, and there’s an awful lot of time spent just talking on Perelandra, and then Merlin (of all people!) shows up and don’t even get started on Mr. Bultitude… It is for these people—indeed, for my former self—that I have written this book.

She pulls a spare head from beneath a pile of shoes and raises it by the hair. It looks like one of those cheap, blue heads that botwhores keep for lonely sci-fi freaks who want to pretend they’re fucking the queen of Xenon.

Sometimes I think Earth has got to be the insane asylum of the universe. . . and I'm here by computer error. At sixty-eight, I hope I've gained some wisdom in the past fourteen lustrums and it’s obligatory to speak plain and true about the conclusions I've come to; now that I have been educated to believe by such mentors as Wells, Stapledon, Heinlein, van Vogt, Clarke, Pohl, (S. Fowler) Wright, Orwell, Taine, Temple, Gernsback, Campbell and other seminal influences in scientifiction, I regret the lack of any female writers but only Radclyffe Hall opened my eyes outside sci-fi. I was a secular humanist before I knew the term. I have not believed in God since childhood's end. I believe a belief in any deity is adolescent, shameful and dangerous. How would you feel, surrounded by billions of human beings taking Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the tooth fairy and the stork seriously, and capable of shaming, maiming or murdering in their name? I am embarrassed to live in a world retaining any faith in church, prayer or a celestial creator. I do not believe in Heaven, Hell or a Hereafter; in angels, demons, ghosts, goblins, the Devil, vampires, ghouls, zombies, witches, warlocks, UFOs or other delusions; and in very few mundane individuals--politicians, lawyers, judges, priests, militarists, censors and just plain people. I respect the individual's right to abortion, suicide and euthanasia. I support birth control. I wish to Good that society were rid of smoking, drinking and drugs. My hope for humanity - and I think sensible science fiction has a beneficial influence in this direction - is that one day everyone born will be whole in body and brain, will live a long life free from physical and emotional pain, will participate in a fulfilling way in their contribution to existence, will enjoy true love and friendship, will pity us 20th century barbarians who lived and died in an atrocious, anachronistic atmosphere of arson, rape, robbery, kidnapping, child abuse, insanity, murder, terrorism, war, smog, pollution, starvation and the other negative “norms” of our current civilization. I have devoted my life to amassing over a quarter million pieces of sf and fantasy as a present to posterity and I hope to be remembered as an altruist who would have been an accepted citizen of Utopia.

The flesh surrenders itself. Eternity takes back its own. Our bodies stirred these waters briefly, danced with a certain intoxication before the love of life and self, dealt with a few strange ideas, then submitted to the instruments of Time.

Love. Yes. That’s what I feel for you. Your smile makes me happy and your pain makes me hurt with you. Your unhappiness makes me unhappy. Your body makes me ache and you make me hard with need to be inside you. You are always on my mind and when I am not with you, I want you with me.

Do you know why the lotus is one of my favorite flowers?" I cocked my head to one side so I could see his expression. He shook his head. "This beautiful flower lives in the most vile, muddy water of swamps and bogs," I said and rubbed the smooth metal of the pendant between my fingers. He frowned. "No, seriously... the grosser the environment, the better," I said. "So let me get this straight. You like a flower that lives in disgusting places?" One of his eyebrows rose. "That ain't right." "No, I love this flower," I corrected. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, "Seriously?" "What?" You don't believe me?" "Sure, I believe you. It's just weird." "I'll tell you why, but only if you promise not to laugh," I said. He nodded. Taking a cleansing breath, I rested my head against the seat, closed my eyes, and took that scary first step. "This flower stays in the mud and muck all night long." I peeked at him without moving my head. His face had become set in the smooth lines of one who listens intently. "Then, at sunrise, it climbs toward the light and opens into a pristine bloom. After the sun goes down, the bloom sinks into the mire. Even though it spends the whole night underwater, the flower emerges every morning as beautiful as the day before." Smiling, I swiveled in my seat to face him. "I love this flower because it reminds me that we get second chances every day, no matter what muck life drags us through.

The first thing anybody tells you about this business is to say what makes you unique and different, but I couldn’t and the very idea of it never sat well with me and after much deliberation, I finally realized why. Because, I’m not unique or different–I’m exactly like you and I love that. We each have a unique filter through which we interpret the world, and with this filter in place, I write stories and songs and you might find them surprising or intriguing or confronting, you may relate or you may not. They may make you laugh and sometimes, even cry. You may or may not understand what I’m trying to say and you may not understand me, however, rest assured, once we get past the filters, at our core, we are wonderfully and beautifully, exactly the same.

Some of the hunger in her gaze receded as uncertainty crept in. “What is it?” She bit her lip. “My breasts aren’t what they used to be.” He glanced at her gorgeous breasts, then met her gaze again. “What did they used to be?” She laughed, some of the sudden awkwardness leaving her. “Perkier. Pregnancy and breastfeeding changed them.” He stared at her breasts. “Then thank you, pregnancy and breastfeeding. Because I love your breasts.

...that the true protagonist of an sci-fi story or novel is an idea and not a person. If it is good sf the idea is new, it is stimulating, and, probably most important of all, it sets off a chain-reaction of ramification-ideas in the mind of the reader; it so-to-speak unlocks the reader's mind so that that mind, like the author's, begins to create. Thus sf is creative and it inspires creativity, which mainstream fiction by-and-large does not do. We who read sf (I am speaking as a reader now, not a writer) read it because we love to experience this chain-reaction of ideas being set off in our minds by something we read, something with a new idea in it; hence the very best science fiction ultimately winds up being a collaboration between author and reader, in which both create -- and enjoy doing it: joy is the essential and final ingredient of science fiction, the joy of discovery of newness.

Will insisted in interviews—not that I’d read any of them. Well, all right, I might have skimmed one or two—that his books were tragic love stories. But not romance novels. Oh, no. Definitely not that! Because he was a man, and most male authors of adult books would slit their own throats before admitting they’d written a romance or women’s fiction or even a family drama. Everything they wrote, many of them insisted, was literary fiction (unless of course it was sci-fi, horror, or mystery). So nauseating.

«All the Amazon guys around Seattle were also aware of the trend. They all knew that, someday, European haute couture would sell online. The problem was that feat couldn’t be done by anybody from Amazon. Because Amazon guys were hacker geeks and cheesy hicks. Amazon had been invented to sell sci-fi books. The least chic thing in the world. The European couture biz would never go anywhere near a dorky sci-fi geek like Jeff Bezos. As for Jeff himself, Jeff would much rather conquer outer space with his private rocket than ever dress the First Lady of France.»

Well, no, Sister Brannigan was the one putting her name on the checks to the cemetery. Someone else was making the deposits into her personal account.” “But now that she’s gone?” “I suppose the Neapolitan benefactor will have to find someone else if he wants to remain anonymous.” Bree snorted, “For a second I thought maybe it might be Bernardo.” “Well, why not? I mean, a little bank fraud isn’t likely to keep my father up at night,” Alessandro said. “But he’s in New York,” Bree reminded him. “Geography, darling?” Alessandro asked amused. “You say that with such pride it scares me,” Bree said rolling her eyes. “I love you too,” Alessandro smiled. “But no. If he was, why let us go off on this whole journey?” “It’s Bernardo. If there’s something I’ve learned about your father it’s that the rules of logic don’t apply to him. Or any other kind of rules,” Bree added, “Maybe this is all some kind of big elaborate plan and we’re gonna go home and find out he’s been keeping Francesca and Adriano frozen in his basement in one of those sci-fi freezers that they say you can buy and use to come back to life in a hundred years.” Alessandro shook his head at her, not impressed with her sense of humour.

Jak’ri had admired how she’d handled captivity, the way Ava had conquered her fears again and again, the sense of humor she hadn’t abandoned in favor of despair. He’d been grateful for the reprieves she’d granted him from his own captivity in dreams, treasuring the moments of freedom they’d shared at Runaka Point. And he respected the intelligence she had repeatedly exhibited both back on the ship and here on this alien world. He studied her from the corner of his eye. She’d pulled her long hair back in what she called a ponytail that slid this way and that across the top of her pack. Little tendrils had escaped and danced around her pretty face as a faint sheen of moisture glistened on her forehead. Jak’ri’s heart thudded in his chest. Since becoming an adult, he had wondered periodically what having a lifemate would be like, if experiencing that depth of emotion and caring would change him in some way. His parents’ union was a loving one, full of laughter, affection, and teasing. Throughout his life, his mother and father had shared a closeness that he’d begun to wonder if he would ever find himself, since past lovers had failed to engender those emotions in him. But now he knew. Now he understood.

I paused at the top of the spiral staircase, and soaked in the view. In the daylight, the bookstore took on a new life. Motes of dust danced in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. It looked a lot cozier, as the colored glass window ornaments threw rainbows across the bookshelves and pirouetted across the hardwood floors like flecks of dappled sunlight on sand. Bookcases, filled to the brim, reached up to the ceiling, cluttered with so many colors and kinds of books, short and fat, long and wide, that it almost felt like an assault on the senses. The center of the bookstore was open to the second floor, where tall bookshelves towered so high you had to reach them with ladders. Heavy oak beams supported the roof. Planetariums and glass chimes and other ornaments hung from the rafters, catching the morning's golden light and throwing it across the store. The shelves were made from the same deep oak as the ceiling beams and the banisters on the second floor, signs hanging from the eye-level shelves detailing the different sections of the store: MEMOIR, FANTASY, SCI-FI, ROMANCE, SELF-HELP, NATURE, HOW-TO... This place was beautiful. I wondered, briefly, what it would be like to own a place like this. It was magical. A shop that sold the impossible inked onto soft white paper.

Certain scholiasts teach that each experience is only the sum of its parts. That our lives may be reduced to a set of equations, that they may be factored, weighed, balanced, and understood. They believe that universe is one of objects and that we are only objects among objects. That even our emotions are no more than electrochemical processes carried out in our brains, accessories to the pressures of Bloody-Handed Evolution. This is why they struggle for apatheia, the freedom from emotion. This is their great failing. Human beings do not inhabit a world of objects, nor did our consciousness evolve to live in such a place. We live in stories, and in stories, we are subjects to phenomena beyond the mechanisms of space and time. Fear and love, death and wrath and wisdom--these are as much parts of our universe as light and gravity. The ancients called them gods, for we are their creatures, shaped by their winds. Sift the sands of every world and sort the dust of space between them, and you will find not one atom of fear, nor gram of love nor dram of hatred. Yet they are there, unseen and uncertain as the smallest quanta and just as real. And like the smallest quanta, they are governed by principles beyond our control. And what is our response to this chaos? We build an Empire greater than any in the known universe. We order that universe, shaping outward nature in accordance with inward law. We name our Emperor a god that he might keep us safe and command the chaos of nature. Civilization is a kind of prayer: that by right action we might bring to pass the peace and quiet that is the ardent desire of every decent heart. But nature resists, for even in the heart of so great a city as Meidua, on so civilized a world as Delos, a young man might simply take a wrong turn and be set upon by brigands. No prayer is perfect, nor any city. It was suddenly very, very cold.

Time, Light, Space, You and I! In the spaces unknown and very high, There where they say we all go when we die, I fled my Earthly shadows to hide in that space high, Where I did not obstruct light but I let it pass by. Through me into its vast arena of cosmic lights, Where there are no shadows because there are no egos and no fights, Where all that shines is not merely due to bright lights, Because in stars too I have seen some Divine delights. That shine through them in those starry nights, When the moon is silent, the sun is humble and the stars don't rumble, I have witnessed sights during those nights, Which even render the brightest sun humble. It is a journey beyond the realm of time, Where time controls nothing because it loses its infinity, Because there light dictates the values of time, Where light does not bend because it alters its proclivity. There, I have seen time bending in that discreet space, Where all laws of Earthly logic fail to compile anything, There time obeys just the factors of light and space, Where to a naked eye only hollowness spreads giving rise to nothing. In actuality it is there time changes its character, Because light assumes a new form, And when new logics takeover and change the cosmic character, Only then I am able to see a universe in a law that is so uniform. I wish to take you on these secret journeys with me, Irma and I, and I shall show you how reality bends in that dimension, But only if you are willing to allow me, To let me love you even in that highest and exalted mansion, Where light behaves differently because time too bends, I will take you there to steal a moment from time that never ends, But it shall be upto you to choose what you wish to see when time bends, Because time and light do not embark on leisurely errands. So hold my hand when we reach that height, And do not panic when you witness newer cosmic lights, Manufacturing time to be able to reach those infinite heights, To please Someone and to be the cause of those infinite cosmic delights. Stand beside me only if you are sure, Because to embark on a beautiful journey seeking eternity, Is not meant for those who are unsure, But for those who believe in the Divine sanity. Where light obstructs time but time never obstructs the light, Where I can not hide behind you nor you can hide behind me, Because there everything that is bright is not light, So stay with me my love and what a wonderful journey of love and wonder it shall be!

Can I talk you into sharing a snack with me while we watch a movie or something for a bit? I know you need to go to bed soon, but I’d love to spend some time with you first. I promise to keep my hands to myself.” Stepping back, Kayla shook her head with mock disappointment. “I was going to say yes… but then you blew it with the hands thing.

He nodded toward her house. “Can I talk you into sharing a snack with me while we watch a movie or something for a bit? I know you need to go to bed soon, but I’d love to spend some time with you first. I promise to keep my hands to myself.” Stepping back, she shook her head with mock disappointment. “I was going to say yes… but then you blew it with the hands thing.” He chuckled. “And if I promise not to keep my hands to myself?” Crossing to the back door, she opened it and offered him a dramatic bow. “Step inside, my dear sir.” Those soft, full lips of his stretching in a smile, he did as ordered.

Cara stared up at the stars, thinking about the three sisters who sacrificed themselves before they would betray each other. “They loved each other so much they died for each other.” “Sometimes, when you love someone that much, dying is the least you would do to protect them.” His voice was hushed as he gazed skyward.

Amidst the many and varied emotions that we as humans endure the human imagination fuses with the realities of outer space for a new born planet to emergence that catapults a message of dire warnings to us, a cataclysmic finale for the planet earth that has fallen prey to human arrogance and greed. The events of this story play themselves out in NASA when its spacecraft disappear, one after the other, and in the moments of hopelessness and expectation and the glances of disappear from the eyes of the world, and the feelings of the families. It is here that three of the best of the best that NASA has to offer, hero astronauts, are deployed to solve the riddle. David, a pompous man if ever there was one, a man who has never been able to hold onto a woman in a serious relationship, least of all the last two women he was involved with. Jack, the consummate womaniser who can’t get enough of his relationships with woman, while his dutiful wife Suzie remains at home, seething with pain for his many treacheries. Finally there is Tony, the kind of heart, and his angelic wife Angela and their tragic infant son Cody, the apple of their eye, a handsome boy and smart suffering from an incurable disease that is on the verge of killing him. With all of that they love and support him and find time to do good deeds for all, garnering the respect and love of all. As the astronauts arrive in the designated spot in space where the previous missions disappeared, they almost collide with a semi-invisible planet from legend, dragging them towards it with all their attempts to flee. They see within it things that go beyond the wildest dreams of mortal man till they thought they’d died and gone to heaven. Then they realise that this planet is besotted with many dark and ancient secrets relating to the Pharaohs, as they also learn that the planets responds only to human emotion. Upon their return to earth the great surprise involving Cody takes place, and in the moment of farewell this mysterious planet sends a definite and resounding message to earth and all who reside on it. The surprises don’t end there, till we return a second time to this planet to discover even more of its secrets… The only remaining question then is, will the inhabitants of this world reveal them?

Everything is only you! Sometimes my heart wants to escape with my head, But my heart beats in all directions tend to tread, And my mind that only thinks of you, Eventually lets my heart beats become an echo of you, Where your memories lie everywhere, and stare at me, From every corner, every side, every direction, it is just you that I see, And then my love Irma, I love you, Quietly in my heart beats and my mind creates visual glimpses of you, Which appear and fade like bubbles in the sea of time, And whenever a bubble of excitement is about to reach its prime, It bursts and the bubble sprays infinite droplets of memories bearing an image of you, And then how I miss you! Maybe you will never know it, That shall be the tragedy of time and feelings of love which are forfeit, Still I shall think of you and love to create this bubble with you, And feel the droplets of your kisses, which are but distant memories of you, Time travels at its pace but human memories somehow master the art of lying in a timeless space, Where the moments from the past through the lanes of mind towards every heartbeat pace, It is so with me, yet I love to love you, Whenever I travel in the train of time I wish to journey only unto you, So let the memories be there Irma and let the feelings stay true, Let the present know, that it is past that rules and leaves a clue, For the lovers to pick, just like I in every present seek you, This clue from the past, makes me find you in the present, that Universe creates only for me and you, In every bubble of memory that bursts and creates endless droplets of memories, Which cover my body and soul with these time’s pleasantries, Where you grow over me like a skin of feelings and I feel you, Like a touch growing all over me, where everything is now you and only you!

Pact of love Not in the silence but in the stillness of quietude I want to be with you, Then as our heartbeats break the silence I want to tell you, Darling I love you, And see the flash of joy arise from you, And let the quiet stillness be intruded by you, By your smiles, by your heart beats, by anything that represents you, Then as my world of emotions and feelings grows over you, I shall attempt to steal you from you, To reside somewhere in the eternal stillness with you, Where there is the world but it exists only for me and you, Then as my feelings sink inside you, I shall tune my heart beats with that of you, Then even the stillness will not disturb me and you, Because now it will be hard to tell whether you are inside me or I am inside you, With feelings merged as one, with heart beats beating as one, I shall now see my world through you, Then my love Irma, we shall sign our pact of love bearing just one line, “I was born to love you!

Net of love! What are these scenes unfolding, Over the water of the lake, Where boats are sailing though water is randomly flowing, Is it a sight of motion with no mistake? As the fisherman casts his net, And its octagonal boundaries gradually sink into the water, Where they now lie in their world wet, And wait as octagonal shapes and one single net, when put together, A shoal of fish swims freely and maybe happily too, As they enter this octagonal mesh that waits in silence, The fisherman feels something stir in his mind too, And pulls the net breaking his wait of prolonged patience, And he smiles at the fish struggling to break free, He holds them one by one and tosses them on the floor, This is how it has always been and this is how it shall always be, The struggle for the floor to be the sky and for the sky to even invade the floor, For what spring and summer tames as beauty, Shall be confounded by the Autumn that appears to appear too soon, For in the temple of life there is no deity, There is only the law of bane and the boon, So I watch the fish wriggle on the floor of the boat, As my thoughts sail away with the one I love, And I cast my net over the vast expanse of fate as I wait, To notice in her the same feeling of love reflecting all over my net of love, That I cast only to seek her attention and few smiles, While her beauty glides throughout the universe, Her charm is rendered eternal across the universe’s infinite miles, And my net of love also gets cast across this endless universe!

You me and our love! There she was, In the calmness of the morning, Yes there she was, Spreading her presence in ways mesmerising and charming, As her beauty hung everywhere now, Here, there, to be everywhere, I felt a world of beauty it was now, Where I belonged only with you somewhere, Now she was in the daylight as well, The light, the day and she, Beauty that was covering everything so well, That I felt the entire universe was nothing, but her deep eyes and she, And in this interplay of lights and your beauty, I wondered where I was, Then I discovered that with you I too was everywhere my love, For now Irma, everything that there was, It was you, me and our love!

You are the shore of my life! I know that you reside in your dreams and in your desires, You, your beauty and my desires, I feel still need to find a way to intersect somewhere, To give birth to the desire allowing us to meet somewhere, Where your dreams are mine too, And where my desires reflect in your eyes too, Maybe you still need to understand why the waves rush to the shore, And that my sea of life, so deeply wants to you to be my only shore, Where to all my dreams, my desires, my wishes flow, And I shall wish for nothing else anymore, just to be in this ceaseless flow, Where all my waves of life pass through you and unto you, To rest at the shore where my life feels it has eventually found you, In my every wish and my heart’s every desire, Where you are the last and only shore of my life and you my only desire, Then when my sea of life pours into your life’s territory, Love shall find an immortal existence in this endless territory, Where all your wishes and my infinite desires form its boundary, And we shall live within this territory of love, where only our wishes form its territory, So let these lapping waves of the sea of life feel your feet, For as you wade through the waters of life I shall feel thy feet, Walking through the landscape of my endless desires and wishes, Perhaps then Irma, you would let your sea of life empty itself into the territory of my wishes, Then we shall let our heart beats float along with these rushing waves of life, Until our universe is reduced to your wishes, my desires and only our life, Maybe then, maybe then, the waves of life will rise no more, For then our lives would have found and rested at the most placid shore. Where a feeling of serenity spreads like a vast blanket over the sea of life, And loving each other becomes the only desire and the single wish of life, Then my love, the moon shall shine and you will be mine, And we shall surrender our identities because now, all my joys will be yours and all your desires will be mine.