Quotes About Survival

He's extremely dehydrated and we'll need to get fluids into him as soon as possible if he's to have a hope of surviving

Between those times we'll fight to live.

We'll live," Kodiak says as he pulls himself out of the water, lying on his side and wiping water from his thick hair. "We'll get cancer in our twenties, but we'll survive at least until then." "Was that a joke?" I ask, arranging myself next to him and wringing out the hem of my shirt. "Yes. It was a joke, and also it was true. It is a Dimokratia kind of joke.

It's decidedly bizzare, when the Worst Thing hppens and you find yourself still conscious, still breathing.

Flight or fight? What kind of pathetically damaged animal decides on...neither?

Is war perhaps nothing else but a need to face death, to conquer and master it, to come out of it alive -- a peculiar form of denial of our mortality?

She had a vague distaste for death, which was just sufficiently stronger than her apathy to preserve her existence.

He grabs ropes, furs, blankets, a hatchet, and carrots. Carrots? Okay, so he likes vegetables.

Every one of us is a minor tragedy. Most of us learn to cope.

Impatience and cutting corners: it's the primate way. It got us down out of the trees and up to the top of the evolutionary heap as a species, which is a lot more like a slippery, mud-slick game of King of the Hill with stabbing encouraged than any kind of tidy Victorian great chain of being or ladder of creation.

Anyway, one of the first things you learn in space is not to thrash. If you have nothing constructive to do, the most constructive thing you can do is often nothing at all. In a mindful sense, I mean. Thrashing is the thing that gets people killed. Not sitting still.

Maybe all obligate carnivores are essentially the same. Can I eat that? Is it going to eat me? Is it a toy?

After thousands of years, the ray-gun reached Earth. It fell from the sky like a meteor; it grew hot enough to glow, but it didn't burn up. The ray-gun fell at night during a blizzard. Traveling thousands of miles an hour, the ray-gun plunged deep into snow-covered woods. The snow melted so quickly that it burst into steam. The blizzard continued, unaffected. Some things can't be harmed, even by ray-guns.

If you have to constantly alter your natural mental state to survive a situation, doesn't it follow that the situation is toxic?

The era of Terra's history that had spawned sublight interstellar exploration and the generation ships had not been one of trust and peaceful cooperation between peoples. More one of desperate gambles and bloody-nailed survival.

We eat our mates if we can catch them. Everybody's got some evolutionary baggage that winds up maladaptive in a sophont setting.- "Valuable protein resource." I shrugged. "And it's not as if your species is designed for coparenting.

You did not love an angel to be safe, or in the interests of survival, or even because you thought the angel might even love you back. You did not love an angel because you thought you could tame an angel, change it, make it safe. You loved an angel because to love an angel was to touch something larger than yourself, and because the process of that touch enlarged you as well.

Like queen bees awakened in the hive, one of them would consume the rest. It all came down to who was going to be the last demiurge standing.

His breath hurt her lungs, in and out, in and out, as if he breathed the smoke and ash he saw.

Unhelmed by her remote masters, she limped along the beach, dragging one fused limb.

Se companions hadn't found the captives, or any sign, on the fleeing barge that the Company humen used a village-heart. They had taken Caeti, and se would not leave Caeti in their dry, rough hands. So se had attached self to the humen leader's heliocopter as it fled the overrun barge. And se clung there, water slashing in se brood pouch, se hand and toefingers wrapped in a deathgrip on wet metal until bone ran with traced flame and digits cramped in claws.

Life is tenacious. Even on the brink of death, it holds the battlements and snarls.

He has outlived two Ragnaroks and a far more human apocalypse. It is time to tear down, shed the husk, leave behind a dead world to see a new world reborn.

Passion filled him, terrible and sweet, a craving as fierce as ever. It was not something one could turn on a courtesan-this wantom cupidity-and expect him to live. But another wampyr was not prey, was not a courtesan. Another wampyr was an equal and a rival, though David might be less than a quarter Sebastien's age, and quite capable of surviving his unalloyed strength.