When my wits fail me, I resort to self-deception.
Are human reactions what they’ve always been, or has a century or more of movies influenced our response to every stimulus.
She said... she said don’t be scared, we wasn’t born to be all the time scared, we was born happy, babies laugh at everything, we was born happy and to make a better world.
If our current barbaric world spirals into greater corruption and brutality, our descendants may become so cruel and so morally perverse that they cross time to watch us suffer, bearing orgasmic witness to the bloodbaths from which their sick civilization grew.
Dogs in general, not just good Dixie, sometimes regarded their humans with an expression of loving concern colored with tender pity, as if they knew not merely people’s most private fears and hopes, but also the very truth of life and the fate of all things, as though they wished that they could speak in order to give comfort by sharing what they knew.
When everything is sacred, nothing is.
When you acted on principle tempered by compassion, there was sooner or later always someone with a saw. He.
The past was a trove of hard-won wisdom.
No one’s more dangerous than a man who’s convinced of his own moral superiority.
We’re all bisexual, don’t you think? I have the urge for a man, sometimes, and with some of them I’ve indulged it. It’s all sensation. Just sensation.
Truth could not be redefined. Truth was what it was.
I think there may be more truth in fiction than in real life. Or at least truth condensed so that it’s more easily understood.
Anyone who learns the true and hidden nature of the world will be terrified, Oddie, but there’s a safe harbor past the terror.
Complexity implies meaning. We’re afraid of meaning.
I’m a bad case of arrested development, stuck in early adolescence, more screwed-up-twisted-up-tangled-up than a couple earthworms makin’ babies.
When I was a child, which was a shorter period of time for me than it was for most people, my mother sometimes implied that she might take me with her if she decided to consummate her romance with Death. My mother is beautiful, and to anyone who never lived with her, she seems to be a genteel and pleasant lady, if slightly aloof.
Hope lies in action.
The stairs creaked. They always creaked when creaking could lead to your death, and they never creaked when creaking didn’t matter.
Guilt and shame have, until now, kept me silent on this issue. I am old enough, even if just twenty, to know that I have no logical reason to feel either guilt or shame, that I was the victim, not the victimizer. Yet I’ve been so long marinated in both emotions that they will forever flavor me.
Moral responsibility is on the shoulders of those who take the technology out of the lab and use it to immoral ends.