There were certain things, learned so young and remembered so deep that they felt like little stones in the center of her mind. These would be the parts of her that rotted last, the bits...

To impatient youth, all things took for ever and any kind of waiting was torture. Pg. 221

You have to deny each lie and every truth with the same vinegar. Let those websites and blowhards who bitch about cover-ups confuse the public for you.

His impatience for sleep often frightened that very sleep away.

The pressure in the airlock grew, and the folds of her suit found every raised scar across her body, wrinkles pressing where wrinkles had once burned. It was a million pricks from a million gentle...

Here was the love and violence in the hearts of men, all for their women

These tales of a world, once beautiful, and now fairly forgotten.

I guess what I’m sayin’ is, if you want to give Jules a job, be very careful.””Why be careful?” Marnes asked.Marck gazed up at the confusion of pipes and wires overhead.”‘Cause she’ll damn well do...

Fiction challenges us and works its miracles by placing us in the skin of another human being and teaching us empathy.

He’d only ever seen a gun once, a smaller one on the hip of that old deputy, a gun he’d always figured was more for show. He stuffed a fistful of deadly rounds in his...

Sleep was a vehicle for passing the time, for avoiding the present. It was a trolley for the depressed, the impatient, and the dying.

Heroes didn’t win. The heroes were whoever happened to win. History told their story — the dead didn’t say a word. All of it was bullshit.

Imagination just wasn’t up to the task of understanding unique and foreign sensations. It knew only how to dampen or augment what it already knew. – Juliette, Pg. 139

The idea of saving anything was folly, a life especially. No life had been truly saved, not in the history of mankind. They were merely prolonged. Everything comes to an end.

If The Lies Don’t Kill You, The Truth Will

It was the hubris of each generation to think this anew, to think that their time was special, that all things would come to an end with them.

This was the mark of deep infatuation, he thought: the desire to watch a woman talk just to see her lips move, to be around her.

It was a sad loss, this illusion of importance, a humbling blow.

He continued to see inevitable events from the past as avoidable, long after they’d taken their course.

Don’t get like these assholes and fall in love with the fighting. Then you’re just setting off bombs because you like the noise they make.