Spock, the first officer whose advice was always effectual, possessed a strength of understanding, and coolness of judgement, which qualified him to be the counselor of the ship’s captain, and enabled him frequently to counteract, to the advantage of them all, that eagerness of mind in Captain Kirk which must generally have lead to imprudence. Spock had an excellent heart, positioned somewhere near his kidneys; his feelings were strong, but he knew how to govern them: it was a knowledge which his captain had yet to learn, and which one of his fellow crew members had resolved never to learn.
Dr. Leonard McCoy’s abilities were, in many respects, equal to Spock’s. He was sensible and clever; but eager in every thing; his sorrows, his joys, could have no moderation. He was generous, amiably cynical, interesting: he was everything but logical.
Excuse me. Slightly drunken revelation about Jane Austen here. Nearly all of the successful romances in her novels support the idea that choosing the mildly to extremely socially awkward dork is the best move, a message I wholeheartedly approve of both in real life and most assuredly in fiction.
Brooding heroes are all fine and good, but not my cup of tea. Give me a guy who refuses to dance because he’s and introverted dweeb? Bestill my heart, apparently.
What do you know of my heart? What do you know of anything but your own suffering. For weeks, Marianne, I’ve had this pressing on me without being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature. It was forced on me by the very person whose prior claims ruined all my hope. I have endured her exultations again and again whilst knowing myself to be divided from Edward forever. Believe me, Marianne, had I not been bound to silence I could have provided proof enough of a broken heart, even for you.