Of course I eat an apple every evening—an apple a day keeps the doctor away—but still, you ought to have more prunes, and not all these fancy doodads.

Those were the eyes remembered, the eyes of Rising Moon, father of Little Runner, who had prayed for his son in a time realer than this one and had seen the prayer answered and gone on his way, friend out of enemy.

Hello, HAL. Do you read me, HAL?

“Do I have those tightbeams yet?” “We're acknowledged and pending, sir,” Chen said. “They know we want to talk.”