For most of human history, Leonard says, people have perceived of Hell as a sort of inpatient clinic where we go to kick our addiction to life.
To me, comedians are the last great storytellers because they depict their stories and create their effect with so few words. In the span of a couple minutes, stand-up comics can communicate more emotion than most novels do in hours worth of reading.
You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everyone else, and we are all part of the same compost pile.” The space monkey continues, “Our culture has made us all the same. No one is truly white or black or rich, anymore. We all want the same. Individually, we are nothing.
Give me violent revenge fantasies as a coping mechanism.
Some people are night people. Some people are day people. I could only work a day job.
That might be the best any generation could achieve: to pioneer its own brand of corruption.
It’s weird how the name outlives the person, the signifier outlasts the signified, the symbol the symbolized.
We are God’s middle children, according to Tyler Durden, with no special place in history and no special attention.
The newspaper warns us about terrorist anthrax bombs and virulent new strains of meningitis, and the only comfort newspapers can offer is a coupon for 20 cents off on underarm deodorant.
Please note, you future dead persons, whenever you shut off a fluorescent bulb or a cathode ray tube and see a residual photon-green glow, that glow is trapped human ectoplasm. Ghosts are forever being snared in lightbulbs.
It’s hard to explain to someone who’s never had the experience – the unmistakable, life-altering moment when you read a book and realize that someone out in the world has read your mind and put into words all the thoughts and ideas crashing around inside your own head. For me, it was like Don Swanstrom.
It’s the last frontier to conquer, other people, strangers, the jungle of their arms and legs, hair and skin, the smells and moans that is everybody you haven’t done. The great unknowns. The last forest to devastate. Here’s everything you’ve only imagined.
Yes, Icarus fell to earth after flying too close to the sun, but what a glorious fall it must have been. Almost worth the flaming wings tied to his arms, waving helplessly in a shower of.
If this is death, if we are dead or dying or even if we are living and just going to die, then what do we have to fear? What are we worried about? I think the knowledge of death is freeing. That pressure we feel, the weight of life and its impending conclusion, is imaginary. And the fact that we’re all in this together is unifying: there’s solidarity in mortality.
Write something that people might not “enjoy” but will never forget.
There’s no escaping from constant escape.
All of our making fun of things isn’t making the world any better. We’ve spent so much time judging what other people have created that we’ve created very, very little of our own.
The first rule of Flunk Klub,” Aardvark said, “is you don’t talk about Flunk Klub.
People really need somebody they feel superior to. So stay downtrodden.
We’re the middle children of the history, no purpose or place, we have no Great war, no Great depression, our great war is a spiritual war, our great depression is our lives.