Old Man's War (Old Man's War, #1)

by John Scalzi

The problem with aging is not that it’s one damn thing after another—it’s every damn thing, all at once, all the time.

the only difference between you and a raisin will be that while you’re both wrinkled and without a prostate, the raisin never had a prostate to begin with.

“I didn’t mind getting old when I was young, either,” I said. “It’s the being old now that’s getting to me.”

“What is the weak point of the human body?” Ruiz asked as he circled around our platoon. “It’s not the heart, or the brain, or the feet, or anywhere you think it is. I’ll tell you what it is. It’s the blood, and that’s bad news because your blood is everywhere in your body. It carries oxygen, but it also carries disease. When you’re wounded, blood clots, but often not fast enough to keep you from dying of blood loss. Although when it comes down to it, what everyone really dies of is oxygen deprivation—from blood being unavailable because it’s spewed out on the fucking ground where it doesn’t do you a goddamned bit of good.

‘This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. And I will.’

“Damn real live people, getting in the way of peaceful ideals,” I said.

Part of what makes us human is what we mean to other people, and what people mean to us.

“What is it like when you lose someone you love?” Jane asked. “You die, too,” I said. “And you wait around for your body to catch up.”

“I’m not insane, sir,” I said. “I have a finely calibrated sense of acceptable risk.”