Quotes from David Wong

life is a flickering candle we all carry around. A gust of wind, a meaningless accident, a microsecond of carelessness, and it's out. Forever.

We're talking about a tentacled flying lamp fucker, Dave. What are you prepared to call unlikely?

Nobody involved in a conflict thinks they're the villain.

John flung himself into a pseudo-karate stance, one hand poised behind him and one in front, posed like a cartoon cactus. I thought for an odd moment he had moved his limbs so fast they had made that whoosh sound through air but then I realized John was making that sound with his mouth.

Which would prove I'm a monster, Arnie? Sacrificing the people I love for the fight? Or walking away from the fight to save the people i love?

She said, "Why do you, like, hate yourself?" "If I knew me as somebody else, I would hate me just as much. Why have a double standard?

My melon soul Crushed by your Gallagher of apathy

He made the engine growl and told the headlights to fuck the night.

I stopped at a red light, feeling foolish as always for stopping at an intersection at an hour when the streets are deserted, just because a colored lightbulb told me to. Society has got me so fucking trained. I rubbed my eyes and groaned and felt utterly alone in the world.

Welcome to freakdom, Dave. It'll be time to start a Web site soon, where you'll type out everything in one huge paragraph.

I keep the gun in a hollowed out copy of the Koran. And there the big book was, tossed on the bed, open and gunless. Nothing else disturbed. I mean, they actually checked my Koran to see if there was a gun inside. I knew I was dealing with a sick son of a bitch.

That's the truth of it; pile together everything we know and care about in the universe and it will still be nothing more than a tiny speck in the middle of a vast black ocean of Who Gives A Fuck.

I wanted to curl up into a fetal position and start sucking my thumb, let my tears and dripping saliva pool under me. Sorry. I tried living, tried being sentient. Can't do it. Can't live in the same universe with that.

John cursed himself. Or rather, he cursed the past version of himself for so thoughtlessly screwing over the current version of himself.

I call it Dante's Syndrome," John said. I had never heard him call it any such thing. "Meaning I think Dave and I gained the ability to peer into Hell. Only it turns out Hell is right here, it's all through us and around us and in us like the microbes that swarm through your lungs and guts and veins. Hey, look! An owl!" We all looked. It was an owl, all right.

They didn't have witch hunts because they believed in witches. They believed in witches so they could have witch hunts.

He gave me a look that would have made cancer apologize, then ran like hell.

They came looking for dark and terrible revelations and instead found out something even more dark and terrible: that their lives were trite and boring.

That ability to see the right choice, but not until several hours have passed since making the wrong one? That's what makes a person a dumbass, folks.

I didn't cry. And if you think I did, good luck proving it, asshole.

I stopped at a red light, feeling foolish as always for stopping at an intersection at an hour when the streets are deserted, just because a colored lightbulb told me to.

He whipped the chair around and actually split one of the things in half with the impact, spilling the spray of blood that was reflective, like mercury. John bellowed, "Anyone else want to donate blood to chair-ity?" He ducked into the the door and bashed one monster right in the wig, screaming, "There's some dessert! With a chair-y on top!

Society is nothing more than people cooperating with other people they'd much rather murder.

To this day I don't know if he was struggling with the moral implications of gunning down half a dozen civilians, or if he was mentally counting to see if he had that many shells left in the gun.