Problem is (follow me closely here, the science is pretty complicated), if I cut a hole in the Hab, the air won't stay inside anymore.

Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It's like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it's hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you've gained all the experiences it had.

Astronauts are inherently insane. And really noble.

My asshole is doing as much to keep me alive as my brain.

Designing a station with artificial gravity would undoubtedly be a daunting task. Space agencies would have to re-examine many reliable technologies under the light of the new forces these tools would have to endure. Space flight would have to take several steps back before moving forward again.

I do know that the best way to make a mediocre movie is to just transcribe the book.

Everything went great right up to the explosion.

I started the day with some nothin’ tea. Nothin’ tea is easy to make. First, get some hot water, then add nothin’.

How come Aquaman can control whales? They’re mammals! Makes no sense.

Once I got home, I sulked for a while. All my brilliant plans foiled by thermodynamics. Damn you, Entropy!

Duct tape works anywhere. Duct tape is magic and should be worshiped.

The thing that is really hard about adaptation is that I try to only pick things I love because if it is something where you think, Oh, that sounds like an interesting idea but I don't love it, then I can't do my job well.

By my reckoning, I'm about 100 kilometers from Pathfinder. Technically it's called “Carl Sagan Memorial Station.” But with all due respect to Carl, I can call it whatever the hell I want. I'm the King of Mars.