The Sparrow (The Sparrow, #1)

by Mary Doria Russell

The mission, he thought, probably failed because of a series of logical, reasonable, carefully considered decisions, each of which seemed like a good idea at the time. Like most colossal disasters.

"Emilio might be a little late," Dr. Edwards told her, kissing her cheek. "Baseball game. Don’t be alarmed if he shows up in a full-body cast, dear. His team’s in second place and when it’s that close, Father Sandoz plays ball for keeps."

"Why is it that God gets all the credit for the good stuff, but it’s the doctor’s fault when shit happens? When the patient comes through, it’s always ‘Thank God,’ and when the patient dies, it’s always blame the doctor. Just once in my life, just for the sheer fucking novelty of it, it would be nice if somebody blamed God when the patient dies, instead of me."

And the first tears have fallen. Oh, Anne you sweet and lovely soul.

God’s best beloved, we primi used to call him.

"God," he whispered again, eyes closed, with the child settling onto his hip. "I was born for this!" It was the simple truth. Nothing else explained his life.

My heart!

Engineers don’t go to confession when they screw up; they find a fix.

"I have decided that I am happier than I have ever been in my life. And yet," he assured them with great and solemn sincerity, "I would crawl over your dead, burnt bodies if it meant getting to absolutely anything deep-fried."

genius may have its limits but stupidity is not thus handicapped.