Quotes from David Wong

I don't know how they catch the birds. I know the Goliath Fucking Bird-Eating Spider can't fly because if it could, it would have a different name entirely. We would call it "sir" because it would be the dominant species on the planet. None of us would leave the house unless a Goliath Fucking Flying Bird-Eating Spider said it was okay.

Sure, Satan would do her favors now and then, but there's always a catch with the Devil.

Do you know why soldiers march in unison? Or why they are compelled to chant in groups? It's a form of hypnosis, it overrides the brain's critical thinking centers. It's the same reason we make schoolchildren shout the Pledge of Allegiance every morning.

The son of a bitch got just what he wanted. A big, heroic sacrifice. Now the rest of us are left to clean up the mess. He probably thought he was being selfless or something. But look what he left behind. What he did, that's the most selfish thing you can do. I want to find the jerk who convinced males that martyrdom is cool and kick him in the teeth

Armando appeared in the door of the bathroom with his gun drawn, because in his world even a vomiting woman was apparently a problem that could be cured with a well-placed bullet.

Guys like him, the ones who grip the Bible so tight they leave fingernail grooves, they're the ones who are the most scared of their dark side.

The grille of the Caddie plunged right into the middle of the bonfire, scattering smoke and flames and bones to the wind. The Cadillac finally bounced and jolted to a stop among a rain of burning human skulls. The voice of John Fogerty garbled and died. The driver's door opened and John flung himself out, clutching a sawed-off shotgun. He screamed, 'DID SOMEBODY ORDER SOME FUCKING PRISON BREAK WITH A SIDE OF SHOTGUN?

We were not restrained in our chairs, but there were so many guns on us that if I scratched my nose, the shooting aftermath would look like somebody had just spilled a huge lasagna here.

There was no head. What the— "LOOK! SHIT!" Franky's head was making a run for

I bet his real name is Chad, he looks like one.

When they write the sequel to the Bible, that shit is definitely gonna be in there.

John, possessing a genetic defect that makes him walk toward danger, strode down toward where it looked like some cops were trying to set up a perimeter around the chaos. Somewhere, Charles Darwin nodded and smiled a knowing smile.

From the backseat of the pick-up stepped Dr. Marconi. I tried to imagine the conversation the three of them had on the way over, and my brain just spat out error messages.

You know what you are? All of you? Children. Little kids playing pretend, with toys. You've spent years obsessing about this and now it's here, much to everyone's surprise, it's actually here, and it's 'tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.' Tomorrow, when the sun comes up. Tomorrow, when the weather is warmer. Tomorrow, when we have more help, when things aren't so bad, when everything is aligned just right so that there's no risk of anything bad possibly happening.

But here's the thing—lying would have become useless thousands of years ago if countering it was as simple as dismissing the liars completely. The really good liars were like chemists, brewing formulas that were mostly truth, the toxins undetectable in the mixture.

The thing with Jen ended with a pregnancy scare. She had seen my world and didn't want to bring a baby into it. This led to some violent arguments during which I pointed out, loudly and in sprays of spittle, that if she got an abortion the fucking unborn fucking fetus would likely fucking haunt us—I mean literally haunt our home—until the day we died and possibly beyond. It turned out that was the wrong thing to say.

You'll know that humans aren't cut out for anything. We cut ourselves out. Slowly, with a rusty knife. Because otherwise, here's what's going to happen: you're going to die and you're going to stand at the gates of judgment and you're going to ask God what was the meaning of it all, and God will say, 'I created the universe, you little shit. It was up to you to give it meaning.

My mind didn't clear. It had been clear before. Instead it muddled, suddenly ablaze with rioting factions of insecurities and dreams, a cacophonous battleground of conflicting moral codes and dogma. I was, therefore, back to normal.

THE SAFE HOUSE" was our code name for Denny's.

Today's cloud is tomorrow's puddle.

Good. Anyway, Amy is missing and the scene is weird as shit. The situation has a real Lovecraft feel to it. Though, you know, if you come over it'll be more of an Anne Rice situation. If you know what I mean." "Who's—" "Because you're gay.

This is my emergency kit. It contained a roll of duct tape, a spare pair of pants, an envelope with two hundred dollars, two bags of dried fruit, two packages of beef jerky, three bottles of water, a roll of thick shop towels you see mechanics use, a small metal pipe - just right for cracking a skull with - and a fake beard. Look, you never know.

Another bite victim lay nearby, a young man writhing as if in a seizure. Eventually his legs kicked themselves free from the rest of his body. The limbs thumped along the floor on their own like two giant polyester snakes with shoes for heads. Right behind them was a loose head stuck to a single arm, furiously biting and clawing the carpet. I felt like we might not be in control of this situation any longer.

Of course, it is likely enough, my friends, that we are going to our doom: the last march of the Ents. But if we stayed at home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway, sooner or later.