point and pointlessness

You love life because life's all there is. There's no god and that's his only commandment.

All paradigm shifts answer the amoral craving for novelty.... Good and evil are irrelevant. Show us the world's not the way we thought it was and a part of us rejoices.

There's a reason humans peg-out around eight: prose fatigue. It looks like organ failure or cancer or stroke but it's really just the inability to carry on clambering through the assault course of mundane cause and effect.

The point of civilisation is so that one can check in to a quality hotel.

Life is nothing but a statement of what happens to be.

Every now and then you look out at the world and know its gods have gone utterly elsewhere.

Just because life's meaningless doesn't mean we can't experience it meaningfully.

Modernity having done away with Absolute Moral Values and Objective Reality, there's only beauty left. What theory won't we espouse if it's beautiful? What atrocity won't we excuse?

All stories express a desire for meaning, not meaning itself.

It's one of the Platonic forms, lying with someone on a hotel bed after transcendent sex.

No point saying pigs can't fly when they're up there catching pigeons.

What is the compulsion to tell the truth if not a moral compulsion?

Money's not legal tender in the moral world.

In the daylight the city's all brash bounce, no question of not going on. Nights you feel the exhaustion, see the going on for what it is: terror of admitting the whole thing's been a mistake.

The whole of one's being reduces to listening for the sound of a ringing phone.

This is love: You stop bothering about the universal, the general, get sucked instead into the local and particular: When will I see her again? What shall we do today? Do you like these shoes?


-Glen Duncan, The Last Werewolf