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"Did you ever look back at some moment in your past and have it suddenly grow so vivid that all the intervening years seemed brief, dreamlike, impersonal—the motions of a May afternoon surrendered to routine?"
"You are one of the few successful persons I know.""Me? Why?""You know precisely what you are doing and you do it well.""But I don't really do much of anything.""And of course the quantity means nothing to you, nor the weight others place upon your actions. In my eyes, that makes you a success.""By not giving a damn? But I do, you know.""Of course you do, of course you do! But it is a matter of style, an awareness of choice—"
"Time means a lot to me, paperwork wastes it, and I have always been a firm believer in my right to do anything I cannot be stopped from doing. Which sometimes entails not getting caught at it. This is not quite so bad as it sounds, as I am a decent, civilized, likable guy. So, shading my eyes against the blue and fiery afternoon, I began searching for ways to convince the authorities of this. Lying, I decided, was probably best."
"I feel obligated to point out, though, that I have always been a sucker for ideas I find aesthetically pleasing. The cosmic sweep of the thing - an interstellar kula chain - affirming the differences and at the same time emphasizing the similarities of all the intelligent races in the galaxy - tying them together, building common traditions... The notion strikes me as kind of fine."