The Rolling Stones Quotes

“The Belt, for all its lonely reaches—or because of them—was as neighborly as a village. They gossiped among themselves, by suit radio. Out in the shining blackness it was good to know that, if something went wrong, there was a man listening not five hundred miles away who would come and investigate if you broke off and did not answer.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“Why? Why does anybody want to go anywhere? Why did the bear go round the mountain? To see what he could see! I've never seen the Rings. That's reason enough to go anywhere. The race has been doing it for all time. The dull ones stay home—and the bright ones stir around and try to see what trouble they can dig up. It's the human pattern. It doesn't need a reason, any more than a flat cat needs a reason to buzz. Why anything?”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“Don't 'Father' me! I can tell a hawk from a handsaw." "Anybody can," Grandmother Hazel commented. "The Hawk class is a purely commercial type while the Hanshaw runabout is a sport job. Come to think about it, boys, a Hanshaw might be better than a Douglas.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“Despite their mad shortcomings, these “automobiles” were the most characteristic form of wealth and the most cherished possessions of their time. Three whole generations were slaves to them.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“Don't be in such a rush. It just slows you down.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“Her frail body, although still agile as a cricket under the Moon's weak pull, was not up to heavy work with a wrench, but her eyes were sharper—and much more experienced—than those of the twins.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“What are you smiling about?" "And five! And four!" chanted Meade. "Nothing much. After we get to Titan we might—" The blast cut off her words; the Stone trembled and threw herself outward bound, toward Saturn.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“You asked what Hazel would do. She'd be along her homing line, of course—and Hazel always oriented around her drive line so as to get the Sun on the back of her neck, if possible. Her eyes aren't too good.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“Wherever there is power and mass to manipulate, Man can live.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“But its other characteristic it shares with almost anything Martian. It can last long periods in hibernation, or if that isn't necessary, in a state of lowered vitality and activity—say when there is no food available. But with any increase in the food supply, then at once—almost like throwing a switch—it expands, multiplies to the full extent of the food supply." "I'll say it does!" "Cut off the food supply and it simply waits for more good times. Pure theory, of course, since I am reasoning by analogy from other Martian life forms—but that's why I'm going to have to disappoint Lowell. Fuzzy Britches will have to go on very short rations." Her husband frowned. "That won't be easy; he feeds it all the time. We'll just have to watch him—or there will be more little visitors from heaven. Honey, let's get busy. Right now." "Yes, dear. I just had to get my thoughts straight." Roger called them all to general quarters; Operation Roundup began. They shooed them aft and into the hold; they slithered back, purring and seeking companionship. Pollux got into the hold and tried to keep them herded together while the others scavenged through the ship. His father stuck his head in; tried to make out his son in a cloud of flat cats. "How many have you got so far?" "I can't count them—they keep moving around. Close the door!" "How can I keep the door closed and still send them in to you?" "How can I keep them in here if you keep opening the door?”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“Thirty-seven days out Fuzzy Britches had eight golden little kittens, exactly like their parent but only a couple of inches across when flat, marble-sized when contracted. Everyone including Captain Stone thought they were cute; everyone enjoying petting them, stroking them with a gentle forefinger and listening carefully for the tiny purr, so high as to be almost beyond human ear range. Everyone enjoyed feeding them and they seemed to be hungry all the time.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“For myself, I long since came to the firm conclusion that a man can do more productive work, and make more money if that is his object, by sitting down with his hands in his pockets than by any form of physical activity. Do you happen to know the average yearly income of a meteor miner?" "Well, no, but—" "Less than six hundred a year." "But some of them get rich!”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“Presently they came out. "Excuse us, folks. Uh, Hazel?" "What is it, Cas?" "You said your fee was two-thirds of our net." "Huh? Did your leg come away in my hand, chum? I wouldn't—" "Oh, no, we'd rather pay it." He reached out, dropped half a dozen small coins in her hand. "There it is." She looked at it. "This is two-thirds of all you made on the deal?" "After taxes." "Of course," added Pollux, "it wasn't a total loss. We had the use of the bicycles for a couple of hundred million miles.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“Fuzzy Britches was not an immediate success with Lowell. "Where's its legs?" he said darkly. "If it's a Martian, it ought to have three legs." "Well," argued Castor, "some Martians don't have legs." "Prove it!" "This one doesn't. That proves it." Meade picked Fuzzy Britches up; it immediately began to buzz—whereupon Lowell demanded to hold it. Meade passed it over. "I don't see," she remarked, "why anything as helpless as that would have such bright colors." "Think again, honey lamb," advised Hazel. "Put that thing out on the desert sand and you would lose it at ten feet. Which might be a good idea." "No!" answered Lowell. "'No' what, dear?" "Don't you lose Fuzzy Britches. He's mine." The child left carrying the flat cat and cooing a lullaby to it. Fuzzy Britches might lack legs but it knew how to win friends; anyone who picked it up hated to put it down. There was something intensely satisfying about petting the furry thing. Hazel tried to analyze it but could not.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“Flat cat?'" "It has a Latin name but I never bothered to learn it." Angelo tickled it with a forefinger; it began to purr like a high-pitched buzzer. It had no discernible features, being merely a pie-shaped mass of sleek red fur a little darker than Castor's own hair. "They're affectionate little things and many of the sand rats keep them for pets—a man has to have someone to talk to when he's out prospecting and a flat cat is better than a wife because it can't talk back. It just purrs and snuggles up to you. Pick it up." Castor did so, trying not to seem gingerly about it. The flat cat promptly plastered itself to Castor's shirt, fattened its shape a little to fit better the crook of the boy's arm, and changed its purr to a low throbbing which Castor could feel vibrate in his chest. He looked down and three beady little eyes stared trustfully back up at him, then closed and disappeared completely. A little sigh interrupted the purrs and the creature snuggled closer. Castor chuckled. "It is like a cat, isn't it?" "Except that it doesn't scratch. Want to buy it?”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“How much?" Angelo hesitated, trying to estimate what the traffic would bear, since a flat cat on Mars had roughly the cash value of still another kitten on a Missouri farm. Still, the boys must be rich or they wouldn't be here—just in and with spending money burning holes in their pockets, no doubt. Business had been terrible lately anyhow. "A pound and a half," he said firmly. Castor was surprised at how reasonable the price was. "That seems like quite a lot," he said automatically. Angelo shrugged. "It likes you. Suppose we say a pound?" Castor was again surprised, this time at the speed and the size of the mark-down. "I don't know," he murmured. "Well . . . ten per cent off for cash.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“How can I be sure? I'm a doctor, not a fortune-teller.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“Baggage included a tossed salad of books as well as hundreds of the more usual film spools. The entire family, save the twins, tended to be old-fashioned about books; they liked books with covers, volumes one could hold in the lap. Film spools were not quite the same.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“If you're going to be businessmen, don't confuse the vocation with larceny.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“She called out, "All stations manned and ready, Captain!" He looked at her and grinned. "Stand by to raise ship!" She answered, "Board green! Clear from tower! Ready for count off!" "Minus thirty! Twenty-nine—twenty-eight—" He broke off and added sheepishly, "It does feel good.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“So you aren't an engineer. You're merely a man who knows engineering." "What about yourself? You didn't stick with it." "No," she admitted, "but my reasons were different. I saw three big, hairy, male men promoted over my head and not one of them could do a partial integration without a pencil. Presently I figured out that the Atomic Energy Commission had a bias on the subject of women no matter what the civil service rules said. So I took a job dealing blackjack. Luna City didn't offer much choice in those days—and I had you to support.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“I'm a doctor, not a fortune-teller.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“At first I thought it was a fur cap; now I see it's alive." Castor pointed to the furry heap on the counter. It was slowly slithering toward the edge. The shopkeeper reached out and headed it back to the middle. "That?”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“wouldn't know how to take care of it." "No trouble at all. In the first place they're cleanly little beasties—no problem that way. And they'll eat anything; they love garbage. Feed it every week or so and let it have all the water it will take every month or six weeks—it doesn't matter really; if it isn't fed or watered it just slows down until it is. Doesn't hurt it a bit. And you don't even have to see that it keeps warm. Let me show you." He reached out and took the flat cat back, jiggled it in his hand. It promptly curled up into a ball. "See that? Like everything else on Mars, it can wrap itself up when the weather is bad. A real survivor type." The shopkeeper started to mention another of its survival characteristics, then decided it had no bearing on the transaction. "How about it? I'll make you a good price.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones

“Leyport,”
― Robert A. Heinlein, The Rolling Stones