Alastair Preston Reynolds (born 13 March 1966) is a Welsh[2] science fiction author. He specialises in hard science fiction and space opera. (wikipedia)
A city's only ever three hot meals away from anarchy.
It looked like a biology lesson for gods, or a snapshot of the kind of pornography which might be enjoyed by sentient planets.
I think I've reduced the amount of blood in my caffeine system to an acceptable level.
It’s the people who don’t worry—those who never have any doubts that what they’re doing is good and right—they’re the ones that cause the problems.
At one time, the treatment for a certain kind of psychosis had been to push an ice pick up through the orbit of the eye, into the frontal lobe; the ice pick was then stirred around until it reduced the problematic brain tissue to non-functioning porridge.
You worry that we're becoming monsters. Merlin, we already were monsters. You didn't make us any worse.
I really struggle to pinpoint whether I became a scientist because I like science fiction, or did I gravitate to science fiction because I identified strongly with scientists.
Without risk in our lives, we're scarcely better than machines ourselves.
Autocratic governments are masters of self-contradiction. They say one thing, do another.
It's an ancient technique known as lying, Khouri.