Mary RoachGravity disappears again, and we rise up off the floor like spooks from a grave. It's like the Rapture in here every thirty seconds.
About This Quote
Gravity disappears again, and we rise up off the floor like spooks from a grave. It's like the Rapture in here every thirty seconds.
Source: Packing For Mars: The Curious Science Of Life In The Void
Some Similar Quotes
- A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment.
- What's this?" he demanded, looking from Clary to his companions, as if they might know what she was doing there." It's a girl, " Jace said, recovering his composure. "Surely you've seen girls before, Alec. Your sister Isabelle is one.
- Welcome to the wonderful world of jealousy, he thought. For the price of admission, you get a splitting headache, a nearly irresistable urge to commit murder, and an inferiority complex. Yippee.
- I'm saying that I'm a moody, insecure, narrow-minded, jealous, borderline homicidal bitch, and I want you to promise me that you're okay with that, because it's who I am, and you're what I need.
- Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.
More Quotes By Mary Roach
- It is astounding to me, and achingly sad, that with eighty thousand people on the waiting list for donated hearts and livers and kidneys, with sixteen a day dying there on that list, that more then half of the people in the position H's family...
- As when astronaut Mike Mulhane was asked by a NASA psychiatrist what epitaph he'd like to have on his gravestone, Mulhane answered, "A loving husband and devoted father, " though in reality, he jokes in "Riding Rockets, " "I would have sold my wife and...
- We are biology. We are reminded of this at the beginning and the end, at birth and at death. In between we do what we can to forget.
- Many people will find this book disrespectful. There is nothing amusing about being dead, they will say. Ah, but there is.
- It would be especially comforting to believe that I have the answer to the question, What happens when we die? Does the light just go out and that’s that–the million-year nap? Or will some part of my personality, my me-ness, persist? What will that feel...