“To be brave, by definition, one has first to be afraid.”
“What is leadership, after all, but the blind choice of one route over another and the confident pretense that the decision was based on reason”
“But only a fool sails into combat with nature”
“Men mistook measurement for understanding. And they always had to put themselves at the center of everything. That was their greatest conceit. The earth is becoming warmer-it must be our fault! The mountain is destroying us-we have not propitiated the gods! It rains too much, it rains too little-a comfort to think that these things are somehow connected to our behavior, that if only we lived a little better, a little more frugally, our virtue would be rewarded. But here was nature, sweeping toward him-unknowable, all-conquering, indifferent-and he saw in her fires the futility of human pretensions.”
“The destination of the journey could not be altered, only the manner in which one approached it - whether one chose to walk erect or to be dragged complaining through the dust.”
“Civilization was a relentless war that man was doomed to lose eventually. - Pg. 195”
“The natural impulse of men is to follow, he thought, and whoever has the strongest sense of purpose will always dominate the rest.”
“... Mother Nature is punishing us, ..., for our greed and selfishness. We torture her at all hours by iron and wood, fire and stone. We dig her up and dump her in the sea. We sink mine shafts into her and drag out her entrails - and all for a jewel to wear on a pretty finer. Who can blame her if she occasionally quivers with anger?" - Pliny, Pg. 176”
“What was leadership, after all, but the blind choice of one route over another and the confident pretense that the decision was based on reason?”
“Brave words. Easy to write when one was young and death was still skulking over a distant hill somewhere... - Pg. 82”
“A nothing that said everything. - Pg. 173”
“And the great thing about money is that it doesn’t matter when you harvest it. It’s an all-year crop.”
“For them, it was just an ordinary miracle.”
“Men mistook measurement for understanding. And they always had to put themselves at the center of everything. That was their greatest conceit. The earth is becoming warmer—it must be our fault! The mountain is destroying us—we have not propitiated the gods! It rains too much, it rains too little—a comfort to think that these things are somehow connected to our behavior, that if only we lived a little better, a little more frugally, our virtue would be rewarded. But here was nature, sweeping toward him—unknowable, all-conquering, indifferent—and he saw in her fires the futility of human pretensions.”
“La cenere s'indurì, cadde altra pomice. L'interno dei cadaveri marcì e insieme a loro, con il passare dei secoli, marcì anche il ricordo dell'esistenza in quel punto di una città. Pompei divenne una città di cittadini vuoti dai contorni perfetti, stretti l'uno all'altro o isolati, con gli abiti volati via o sollevati sul capo, che tentano disperatamente di afferrare i loro oggetti più adorati senza riuscire a stringere nulla tra le mani: vuote entità sospese a mezz'aria al livello dei tetti.”
“[...] ma a Roma un uomo onesto era un uomo raro: cioè un cretino.”
“Con quale velocità, pensò l'ingegnere, la natura si riprende ciò che ha dovuto cedere: pioggia e gelo sbriciolano la muratura, le strade sono sepolte da strati verdi di erbaccia, gli acquedotti sono ostruiti dalla stessa acqua per portare la quale sono stati costruiti. Quella della civiltà è un'incessante guerra che l'uomo è destinato a perdere.”
“Perhaps Mother Nature is punishing us, he thought, for our greed and selfishness. We torture her at all hours by iron and wood, fire and stone. We dig her up and dump her in the sea. We sink mineshafts into her and drag out her entrails - and all for a jewel to wear on a pretty finger. Who can blame her if she occasionally quivers with anger?”
“Now that it’s too late, now that I lie here dying on this bloodstained sand, I finally get it.
I understand, now.
I understand. I know what he meant. My father told me that to know
the enemy is half the battle. I know you, now. That’s right.
It’s you.
All of you who sit in comfort and watch me die, who see the twitch of
my bowels through my own eyes: You are my enemy.
Corpses lie scattered around me, gleanings left in a wheat field by a careless reaper. Berne’s body cools beneath the bend of my back, and I can’t feel him anymore. The sky darkens over my head—but no, I think that’s my eyes; Pallas’ light seems to have faded.
Every drop of the blood that soaks into this sand stains my hands and the hands of the monsters that put me here.
That’s you, again.
It’s your money that supports me, and everyone like me; it’s your lust that we serve.
You could thumb your emergency cut-off, turn your eyes from the screen, walk out of the theatre, close the book . . .
But you don’t.
You are my accomplice, and my destroyer.
My nemesis.
My insatiable blood-crazed god.
Ah, ahhh, Christ . . . it hurts.”
“The result, the Walker Colt, was one of the most effective and deadly pieces of technology ever devised, one that would soon kill more men in combat than any sidearm since the Roman short sword.65”
“There are a number of things a woman can tell about a man who is roughly twenty-nine years old,
sitting in the cab of a pickup truck at 3:37 in the afternoon on a weekday, facing the Pacific,
writing furiously on the back of pink invoice slips. Such a man may or may not be employed, but
regardless, there is mystery there. If this man is with a dog, then that's good, because it means he's
capable of forming relationships. But if the dog is a male dog, that's probably a bad sign, because
it means the guy is likely a dog, too. A girl dog is much better, but if the guy is over thirty, any
kind of dog is a bad sign regardless, because it means he's stopped trusting humans altogether. In
general, if nothing else, guys my age with dogs are going to be work.
Then there's stubble: stubble indicates a possible drinker, but if he's driving a van or a pickup
truck, he hasn't hit bottom yet, so watch out, honey. A guy writing something on a clipboard
while facing the ocean at 3:37 P.M. may be writing poetry, or he may be writing a letter begging
someone for forgiveness. But if he's writing real words, not just a job estimate or something
business-y, then more likely than not this guy has something emotional going on, which could
mean he has a soul.”
“You are indestructible .J
For some reason I felt light-headed when I finished writing and looked up at her, like I'd stood up too fast or the oxygen had left my brain. Oh pulled her arm back, looked thoughtfully at the words, and replied, "It's upside down, but I like it. You done good, Jacob.”
“Zach finally acknowledges me when my elbow smacks against his side as I shove my way between him and Rachel. He straightens and mumbles so only I can hear, “Damn, she gives me a hard-on. Gorgeous, and she knows cars.”
“I suggest you back the f*ck off,” I mutter.
Zach smirks. > “Hey, you’re the one that left her here with me.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Rachel asks.
“Cars,” I say. “You said you needed to be home by ten. It’s nine-thirty.”
She blinks as if she just woke up. “Crap. Already?”
I step aside so Rachel can exit the driver’s seat. Because Rachel is every guy’s fantasy, Zach begs her to stay: she should see the engine, she can ride in his car, she can drive his car. Each of his attempts to lure her to stay causes me to think of one more way to hide the body parts after I kill him.”
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