Maybe I'm just not in the best mood.
"How do you know what's worth fighting for when it's not worth dying for?"
"The center of the earth is the end of the world."
"I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known. I don't know where it goes, but it's home to me and I walk alone."
Green Day
"God didn't kill that little girl. Fate didn't butcher her and destiny didn't feed to the dogs. If God saw what anyone did that night, he didn't seem to mind. From then on, I finally knew. God doesn't make the world this way. We do. Whatever was left of Walter Kovaks died that night with that little girl. From then on, there was only Rorschach."
"Stood in firelight, sweltering. Bloodstain on chest like map of violent new continent. Felt cleansed. Felt dark planet turn under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in night. Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else. Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It’s us. Only us. Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world. Was Rorschach. Does that answer your questions, Doctor?"
Rorschach
"I looked at the Rorschach blot. I tried to pretend it looked like a spreading tree, shadows pooled beneath it, but it didn’t. It looked more like a dead cat I once found, the fat, glistening grubs writhing blindly, squirming over each other, frantically tunneling away from the light. But even that is avoiding the real horror. The horror is this: In the end, it is simply a picture of empty meaningless blackness. We are alone. There is nothing else."
Dr. Long
"You sound bitter. You're a strange man, Blake. You have strange attitudes to life and war."
"Strange? Listen... once you figure out what a joke everything is, being the Comedian's the only thing that makes sense."
"The charred villages, the boys with necklaces of human ears... these are part of the joke?"
"Hey... I never said it was a good joke! I'm just playing along with the gag..."
The Comedian and Dr. Manhattan
"I like the stars. It's the illusion of permanence, I think. I mean, they're always flaring up and caving in and going out. But from here, I can pretend … I can pretend that things last. I can pretend that lives last longer than moments. Gods come, and gods go. Mortals flicker and flash and fade. Worlds don't last; and stars and galaxies are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into cold and dust. But I can pretend."
Destruction, in Sandman #48: "Brief Lives: 8"
"Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life … you give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like "maybe we should be just friends" or "how very perceptive" turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. Nothing should be able to do that. Especially not love. I hate love."
Rose Walker, in Sandman #65: "The Kindly Ones: 9"
"I don't need to know the future. When the future's over, then it's me …"
Death, Sandman: "The Song of Orpheus"
"We write our names in the sand, and then the waves roll in and wash them away."
The emperor Augustus in Sandman #30: "August"
"Trust the tale, not the teller."
D.H. Lawrence
"I may make you feel, but I can't make you think."
Jethro Tull
"You can't make it very far on a tank of gas and an empty heart."
Miranda Lambert
"War has a cost. Peace has a price."
Unknown
"Happiness is a prison, Evey. Happiness is the most insidious prison of all."
"I didn't put you in a prison, Evey. I just showed you the bars."
V For Vendetta
"In addition to my other numerous acquaintances, I have one more intimate confidant.... My depression is the most faithful mistress I have known—no wonder, then, that I return the love."
Søren Kierkegaard
"I did my best, it wasn't much, I couldn't feel, so I learned to touch."
Leonard Cohen
"But now there's wrinkles around my baby's eyes
And she cries herself to sleep at night
When I come home the house is dark
She sighs, "Baby did you make it all right,"
She sits on the porch of her Daddy's house
But all her pretty dreams are torn,
She stares off alone into the night
With the eyes of one who hates for just being born"
Bruce Springsteen, "Racing in the Street," Darkness on the Edge of Town
"Sometimes I think this whole world is one big prison yard. Some of us are prisoners, the rest of us are guards."
Bob Dylan
"Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be.
As a friend, as a friend, as an old Enemy.
Take your time, hurry up, choice is yours, don't be late.
Take a rest, as a friend, as an old memory."
Curt Cobain
"Old dogs care about you even when you make mistakes, and God bless little children while theyre still too young to hate."
Tom T. Hall
"They wanted to know why I did what I did, I said 'sir well I guess there's just a meanness in this world.'"
Bruce Springsteen
"Shut up! Our fathers were our models for God. If our fathers bailed, what does that tell you about God?"
"No, no, I... don't..."
"Listen to me! You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you. He never wanted you. In all probability, he hates you. This is not the worst thing that can happen."
"It isn't?"
"We don't need him!"
Fight Club
"Gabriel, leaning on his elbow, looked for a few moments unresentfully on her tangled hair and half-open mouth, listening to her deep-drawn breath. So she had had that romance in her life: a man had died for her sake. It hardly pained him now to think how poor a part he, her husband, had played in her life. He watched her while she slept as though he and she had never lived together as man and wife. His curious eyes rested long upon her face and on her hair: and, as he thought of what she must have been then, in that time of her first girlish beauty, a strange friendly pity for her entered his soul. He did not like to say even to himself that her face was no longer beautiful but he knew that it was no longer the face for which Michael Furey had braved death.
Perhaps she had not told him all the story. His eyes moved to the chair over which she had thrown some of her clothes. A petticoat string dangled to the floor. One boot stood upright, its limp upper fallen down: the fellow of it lay upon its side. He wondered at his riot of emotions of an hour before. From what had it proceeded? From his aunt's supper, from his own foolish speech, from the wine and dancing, the merry-making when saying good- night in the hall, the pleasure of the walk along the river in the snow. Poor Aunt Julia! She, too, would soon be a shade with the shade of Patrick Morkan and his horse. He had caught that haggard look upon her face for a moment when she was singing Arrayed for the Bridal. Soon, perhaps, he would be sitting in that same drawing-room, dressed in black, his silk hat on his knees. The blinds would be drawn down and Aunt Kate would be sitting beside him, crying and blowing her nose and telling him how Julia had died. He would cast about in his mind for some words that might console her, and would find only lame and useless ones. Yes, yes: that would happen very soon.
The air of the room chilled his shoulders. He stretched himself cautiously along under the sheets and lay down beside his wife. One by one they were all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. He thought of how she who lay beside him had locked in her heart for so many years that image of her lover's eyes when he had told her that he did not wish to live.
Generous tears filled Gabriel's eyes. He had never felt like that himself towards any woman but he knew that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself which these dead had one time reared and lived in was dissolving and dwindling.
A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."
James Joyce, "The Dead," Dubliners
"I told you Rose. Get too close to the sun and you burn."
Fullmetal Alchemist.
"Even the greatest of us can't compete with time and death."
Lex Luthor, "The Return"
"And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had."
Gary Jules
"It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything."
Tyler Durden, Fight Club