There Are Two Kinds Of Brave Men:

In America All Too Few Blows Are Struck Into Flesh. We Kill The Spirit Here, We Are Experts At That. We Use Psychic Bullets And Kill Each Other Cell By Cell.

Armstrong, Sitting In The Commander's Seat, Spacesuit On, Helmet On, Plugged Into Electrical And Environmental Umbilical's, Is A Man Who Is Not Only A Machine Himself In The Links Of These Networks, But Is Also A Man Sitting In (what Collins Is Later To Call) A 'mini-cathedral.' A Man Somewhat More Than A Pilot, Somewhat More Than A Superpilot, Is In Fact A Veritable High Priest Of The Forces Of Society And Scientific History Concentrated In That Mini Cathedral, A General Of The Church Of The Forces Of Technology.

Love Is Simple To Understand If You Haven't Got A Mind Soft And Full Of Holes. It's A Crutch, That's All, And There Isn't Any One Of Us That Doesn't Need A Crutch.

There Is A No Man's Land Between Sex And Love, And It Alters In The Night.

You Don't Know A Woman Until You've Met Her In Court.