Isaac Marion Quotes - Page 4

But we don’t remember those lives. We can’t read our diaries.’ ‘It doesn’t matter. We are where we are, however we got here. What matters is where we go next.’ ‘But can we choose that?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘We’re Dead. Can we really choose anything?’ ‘Maybe. If we want to bad enough.

Here we are on the road. We must be going somewhere.

Maybe this is why I sleep only a few hours a month. I don't want to die again. This has become clearer and clearer to me recently, a desire so sharp and focused I can hardly believe it's mine: I don't want to die. I don't want to disappear. I want to stay.

Why is it beautiful that humanity keeps coming back? So does herpes.

It's hard to take your life so seriously when you can see it all at once.

I wince at her use of the word "human." I've never liked that differentiation. She is living and I'm dead, but we're both human. Call me an idealist.

When the entire world is built on death and horror, when existence is a constant state of panic, it's hard to get worked up about any one thing. Specific fears have become irrelevant. We've replace them with a smothering blanket far worse.

The world that birthed that story is long gone, all its people are dead, but it continues to touch the present and future because someone cared enough about that world to keep it. To put it in words. To remember it.

Just... ate," M says, frowning at me a little. "Two days...ago." I grab my stomach again. "Feel empty. Feel... dead." He nods. "Marr...iage.

It was fun, but it's over now. This is how things go.

I am Dead, but it's not so bad. I've learned to live with it.

Once you've arrived at the end of the world, it hardly matters which route you took.

Now I’m just standing here on the conveyor. Along for the ride. I reach the end, turn around, and go back the other way. The world has been distilled. Being dead is easy. After a few hours of this, I notice a female on the opposite conveyor. She doesn’t lurch or groan like most of us. Her head just lolls from side to side. I like that about her. That she doesn’t lurch or groan. I catch her eye and stare at her.

What's the point of trying to fix a world we're so briefly in?

All the shitty stuff people do to themselves... it can all be the same thing, you know? Just a way to drown out your own voice. To kill your memories without having to kill yourself.

It’s sad to see them staring wistfully through the window when the door isn’t locked.

I feel the flatline of my existence disrupting, forming heartbeat hills and valleys

The moment the light went out, everyone stopped pretending.

God has made us study partner. We need to talk about our project.

No praise, no blame. Just so.

It's not like I'm such a shiny happy person either, you know? I'm a wreck too, I'm just... still alive.

I know I'm not going to say good-bye. And if these staggering refugees want to help, if they think they see something bigger here than a boy chasing a girl, then they can help, and we'll see what happens when we say yes while the rigor mortis world screams no.

She is Living and I'm Dead, but I'd like to believe we're both human. Call me an idealist.

Once again the absurdity of my inner thoughts overwhelms me, and I want to crawl out of my skin, escape my ugly, awkward flesh and be a skeleton, naked and anonymous.

Even in my bravest moment, I am a coward.