Companions, the creator seeks, not corpses, not herds and believers. Fellow creators, the creator seeks — those who inscribe new values on new tablets. Fellow creators, the creator seeks, and fellow harvesters; for everything about him is ripe for the harvest.

The AI does not hate you, nor does it love you, but you are made out of atoms which it can use for something else.

If he were human, you would have described him as vain. But you can't apply human values to a cat.

If this is the individuality you value, we question your judgement.

His real error had been the naive belief that his definition of pleasure significantly overlapped with that of the Cenobites. As it was, they had brought incalculable suffering. They had overdosed him on sensuality until his mind teetered on madness, then they'd initiated him into experiences that his nerves still convulsed to recall. They had called it pleasure, and perhaps they meant it. Perhaps not. It was impossible to know with these minds; they were so hopelessly, flawlessly ambiguous.

On the front of the Octavo had been a representation of Bel-Shamharoth. He was not Evil, for even Evil has a certain vitality — Bel-Shamharoth was the flip side of the coin of which Good and Evil are but one side.

It would be impossible for a mere Earth-bound imagination to understand the motives for their exploration, their attitudes to the life-forms they have found, or their long-term intentions.

Good and evil are human constructs, Reginald. I was merely attempting to be courteous.

The stuff they do comes so far out of left-field, it feels like they're NPCs in some badly scripted RPG. And it doesn't help that their stats are broken as all hell.

Mephisto: The eyes of a human are dull after all. What's so good about that form? Look closely! This small and short form! Look how cool it is! This is a devil's aesthetics!

Si-Un: A devil's aesthetics... I don't get it.

Su-In: Are all devils like that?

Mephisto: See, look at Su-In. Her legs are long and ugly.