People From Oregon

"“You said Gryphon wants to be friends,” Paul says. “What’s more friendly than a common enemy?”"

"There’s nothing like pulling rank in the middle of a crisis to make people dislike you."

"Rumblings on Mount Olympus don’t affect the price of feta cheese in the agora."

"When you put enough secrets into play, they’re going to start colliding with each other."

"Paul shakes his head. “Please tell me how much longer you would like to complain about this before I can leave and get back to work.”"

"I don’t know how long I can keep lying to someone I want to love."

"I’d just like us to consider all the possibilities. Especially the ones that involve me being an assassination target."

"Finding the stupidest possible thing to say, that’s my other superpower."

"“Heels and Lunar gravity don’t really mix well.”"

"Which, again, is very unlikely and would seem pretty ridiculous to any normal person, but as events keep reminding me: I don’t deal with normal people."

"That’s what happens when you ask for obedience without granting trust. Zealots need to be micromanaged."

"Paul’s sense of humor is more like a humor singularity, from which nothing funny can escape."

"I step into one of the most amazing views I’ve ever seen. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve witnessed lots of incredible things. My uncomfortably long and monotonous outer space travels do get me into visual range of some of the most vivid astronomical wonders in the Solar System: Saturn’s rings, the Great Red Spot on Jupiter, any number of comets shedding their icy mass in huge glowing tails. But nothing compares to seeing Planet Earth from space."

"No aliens yet, but it’s amazing how paranoid some people can get when you pay them to think up worst-case scenarios."

"“Are we done here?” I ask. “I can come back later if you want to yell at me some more.”"

"Did I say this was a bad idea? I was wrong. This is probably the worst idea ever. On the bright side, I guess that makes it a new personal record."

"I’ve already spotted a few more familiar faces. Apparently this crisis is the social event of the season."

"This is not some random misfortune we’re fighting. This is evil. And evil is predictable."

"“It’s not personal, Kangaroo,” Alisa says. “It’s a little hard not to take it personally when someone clones you.”"

"She squints at me. “Since when do you care about regulations?” “Since they started helping me win arguments like this.”"

"Of course, Jessica and I have already wandered pretty far from our original mission: what should have been a simple info buy has turned into the craziest road trip of all time, with a side of dysfunctional family reunion."

"Hong doesn’t say anything. I can’t decide whether he’s being politely discreet or annoyingly neutral."

"There’s another important lesson here: If something seems weird, it’s probably even weirder than you think. The universe is really, really, really weird, guys."

"I’ve found that if I can't come up with even an inkling of how my mind might be changed, then I'm not really thinking at all; I'm just set on holding on to my current beliefs."

"The clever part is that it changes the question from, Who should I believe? to, What should I do? After all, the physical world is unaffected by our beliefs. It reacts only to our actions."

"In any disagreement between what we want to be true and what is true, physical reality wins every time."

"Even depressions end. Climate chaos may not."

"Try to keep in mind one of the fundamental aspects of science: letting the evidence form belief rather than belief select evidence."

"As humans, we reflexively reject arguments that contradict what we would like to be true."

"My students have described this process of testing ideas in science as: “Hit it with a sledgehammer and see if it breaks. Whatever survives is the best we've got." Science is a very adversarial activity! Hence the old adage among physicists: Physics is a contact sport."

"As much as we think science is about being right, the actual practice of the stuff is largely focused on being wrong. Why? Because being open to the possibility that you might be wrong is exactly how you get less wrong over time, sort of like saying “I’d better find all the holes in my argument before someone else can." Strangely, the way to make your ideas stronger is to try to break them. Looking for errors in your understanding rather than just trying to find supporting evidence is the best way to improve your ideas."

"New breakthrough technologies can make it easier, but we've already got, right now, everything we need to accomplish the task of transforming our energy economy away from fossil fuels. Except the willingness."

"Knowing how to combat your own confirmation bias helps remove that huge handicap that we all share—the tendency for our beliefs to drift toward what we want to be true."

"I was left with a great idea gutted by critical examination. But that's good. That's how we make ideas better—by trying to poke holes in them and then finding ways to fix the holes."

"Scientists are trained to not give absolute answers. It is interesting that in recent years, some have started to do so when talking with the media, because they've learned that whenever they include the very scientific words possibly, perhaps, and uncertainty, their conclusions are interpreted by the media and public as simple guesswork."

"One afternoon, in the basement bar of the Regent Palace Hotel, I noticed two red-beret sergeants from the British 1st Airborne Division sitting down the way. In London, these guys were honored above all; nobody in a red beret was to be arrested for drunkenness. Eventually they noticed my 101st Airborne patch, the screaming eagle. "We owe a tip of the hat to the 101st," said one. "Got us across the Rhine one black night after we'd been trapped behind enemy lines." I jiggled the ice cubes in my Scotch. "I knew," I said. "That was my company, E Company, 506th." They scoffed a bit and looked around each other, obviously thinking that I was trying to take some credit that wasn't due me. "Oh, really?" one said with a touch of doubt. "Yeah," I said. "I was on the rescue team." "Well, of course you were, old chap- so was my dead aunt Lucille," said one, and they both laughed. My Scotch was settling in. I paused, then took another sip. "Say, how's that tank sergeant, the commander from the Seventh Armored Division who headed up that outfit known as the Rats of Tobruk? Guy was in my boat." Their eyes widened. "After we got him safely across the Rhine, he told me his wife had already been a widow and he was gettin' out of this 'bloody war.'" They froze in silence, then one of them cleared his throat. "To E Company," he said, holding up his drink. I clinked my glass with the others and nodded, then held mine high. "To E Company.""

"The previous July, two months after V-E Day, I was on a three-day pass and wound up in the "U" section of one of Hitler's stadiums in a city called Worms. In the morning, the head of the facility came to me, the ranking noncom, and asked us to come salute Patton, who was coming by for an inspection. At the appointed hour, we heard sirens. Motorcycles led Patton's staff car in, flags flying. His car stopped. I called our group to attention. Patton looked us over and said something about the 101st Airborne Division I'll never forget: "If I had two divisions of you bastards, I would have had the Germans blowing straws up their asses by Thanksgiving and you would have been home by Christmas.""

"We are Americans- we lead and are looked to as leaders in the fight for liberty. We dare not shirk this responsibility."

"Wearing that uniform with the screaming eagle on it, people knew two things about you: You were a damn good soldier- and half crazy."

"On New Year's Eve, I thought back to a year ago, Skip and I celebrating with the guys in England. Warm. Wild. All the food you could eat. Now, we sat in our foxholes and talked quietly. Then, with permission from Compton, just because we had ammo, we fired off six rounds of mortars to let the Germans know the worst was yet to come. A few days later, we were hunkered down when a jeep pulled up down the way, snow kicking up from its tires. It was Father Maloney. And who in the hell's with him but Joe Toye. Arm in a sling. Hadn't shaved since Adam was born. But there he was, walking across the field towards the front line. Winters saw him. "Where are you going?" he asked. "You don't have to go back to the lines." Toye looked at him. "Gotta get back with the fellas," he said. And he walked back to join the boys in Easy Company. Like the others, I just stood and watched in awe."

"Lieutenant Peacock, the guy who'd busted us back in Aldbourne for smuggling in the girls in leopard-skin tights, won a thirty-day furlough back to the States. OK, Lewis Nixon won it but had the guts to stay, and Peacock was the lucky runner-up. Most of the guys were happy for him, not because he got to go home, but because they got rid of him. Nice guy, but in over his head."

"We'd heard that General Taylor was now back in Bastogne. Everybody was ordered to shave within twenty-four hours and to remove their boots once a day and massage their feet. I refused the foot order, having tried and found it only made things worse. Come to think of it, I refused the shaving order, too, as did most of us."

"Strange thing, war."

"General Taylor spoke but we couldn't hear a word he said; a formation of C-47s passed over about that time. But we heard the names of the dead. All 414. I never talked with any of my buddies about that day, but I wondered if we were all wondering about the same two things: if the list would ever end. And if, down the road, our names would ever be on it."

"Bastogne was challenging us in ways no other place had. We had no artillery power and no airpower. We were low on ammo and food. The men were cold, fearful, exhausted. I've heard a soldier loses his effectiveness in combat after about 90 days; we'd been in action for 107 since Normandy. This wasn't exactly how any of us had expected to spend Christmas 1944. As if our situation wasn't ominous enough, word filtered through Easy's ranks from a medic back in Bastogne: The Germans had closed the circle. The 101st Airborne was now completely surrounded, but as Winters would remind us, "We're used to that. We're paratroopers.""

"I didn't cry after learning Skip Muck was dead. That would come later. Much later. Not that it didn't hurt. Hell, I'd never felt pain so deep. He was like my brother. No, closer than my brother. But by January 9, when he'd died in a shelling about one hundred yards east of where I was, I was too mentally numb to really react. Too tired. I didn't sleep a wink for two nights after Roe broke the news to me. And after seeing Toye and Guarnere carted off, and Compton leaving, it was like dumping ice on a guy who was already frozen stiff. But the main reason I didn't crumble at his death is I couldn't. That wasn't allowed. With Compton gone, I realized I had to step up and lead. After Guarnere went down, Winters had promoted me to permanent sergeant status. Now, Buck was gone. From day one, you're taught that the good of the whole is more important than just you. That you can't let your emotions get in the way of the task at hand. So like a doctor who deals with pain and death each day, you just bury it somewhere deep down inside, thinking it'll go away on its own."

"When General Maxwell Taylor, back in the war zone after conveniently missing a tiny skirmish called the Battle of the Bulge, came through for an inspection, I mentally rolled my eyes. "Sergeant, were you wearing your helmet when it was hit?" he asked, looking at a helmet with a chunk missing after I'd taken a bullet from that P-47 that the krauts had apparently stolen and used to dive-bomb us. I wanted to shake my head and say, "What do you think?" Instead I said, "Yes, sir." "Well, in that case you can continue wearing it." The incident showed how little the pencil-pushing brass knew about frontline duty. Anyone with a helmet with that kind of damage wouldn't have had a friggin' head if the helmet hadn't been on his head when he was hit. I continued to wear it. And would have even if he'd told me I couldn't."

"Buck Compton looked nothing like the soldier who'd walked off the line a few days before. Well-starched Class A uniform. Hair combed. He was taking quick drags on a cigarette. His driver was waiting for him in a jeep. "I've been reassigned, Malark," he said. "Some desk job in Paris. Director of athletics and entertainment or something." He'd wanted to stay with the company but Winters wouldn't allow it. "That's great, Buck," I said. "Dick said I could come say good-bye." "I'm glad you did. I'm happy for you." He looked around. "Don, there's something I need to know." He paused and looked beyond me, back toward the woods where I'd just made fresh tracks in the snow. Back to where the others were. "What, uh- what do the other guys think of me?" I couldn't lie. "They think you're a hell of an officer, Buck." "Really?" "Really. They wish you the best. Honest." He nodded, his lips pursed a bit. "Thanks, Malark." He looked at me and saluted. I saluted back. And we left to go to the different places we needed to be."

"We'd heard from guys in Bastogne that the 101st was making headlines back home. We'd broken the German siege. Beaten the odds. All at a time when newspapers were looking for good hero stories and citizens looking for hope. But, believe me, we soldiers in those Bastogne foxholes weren't feeling particularly heroic. What we mainly felt was cold. Our beards grew longer, our patience shorter. The snow resumed, now halfway to our knees. It would snow again every day for a week. Somehow it didn't seem to bother the German planes, which were harassing us day and night. We had been on the front lines for fifteen days in Belgium, on top of seventy in Holland and twenty-three in Normandy. A total of 108 days, not that anybody was counting. In war, you count days the way prisoners mark walls. Will this ever end? Will we ever make it out alive? Will I get home to be with Bernice and pick blackberries? Will Skip marry Faye Tanner and live happily ever after? Such questions rattled around in your mind here and there, between the short spurts of combat and the much longer nights."

"People understand that elders listen respectfully to everyone. There’s a place at their table for every person. But they know, too, that the elders have consistently been the best people to make important decisions. People are, therefore, comfortable deferring. Their dignity is not compromised, nor do they feel powerless or demeaned, because they are carrying out the decisions of the elders. They know the elders embody the wisdom of their ancestors, that without them they would never have gotten this far…"