Quotes About Catastrophe

How could she trust this man, so imprecise with his words, to take care of the burial? To say there had been a loss was ludicrous; one lost a shoe or a pair of keys. You did not suffer the death of a child and say there was a loss. There was a catastrophe. A devastation. A hell.

This is embarrassing. I uh, die and, um the last breath from my lungs is a terrible acid. It melts the seaward wall of the city and a hurricane comes and washes it away. All die. O the embarrassment -You're much better at that than he was.

One rash person in the right place and earth could be a sterile cinder in seconds, but that's been more-or-less true for a century.

P?rea straniu c? o reacÈ›ie petrecut? într-un volum de dimensiunea unui parameci ar fi putut declanÈ™a sfârÈ™itul lumii. Al Universului. Evident, singura modalitate de a verifica realmente ipoteza era efectuarea experimentului. Aducea într câtva cu testarea funcÈ›ion?rii unei arme prin înc?rcarea ei, introducerea È›evii în gur? È™i ap?sarea pe tr?gaci.

Most people had no idea there was only a thin veneer between their comfortable lives and the end of civilization as they knew it.

Babies had a way of casually destroying things.  They had a lot in common with earthquakes and rabid dogs that way.

In 5-billion years the Sun will expand & engulf our orbit as the charred ember that was once Earth vaporizes. Have a nice day.

A hundred times have I thought New York is a catastrophe and 50 times: It is a beautiful catastrophe.

Civilization is in a race between education and catastrophe. Let us learn the truth and spread it as far and wide as our circumstances allow. For the truth is the greatest weapon we have.

Once you know how completely and suddenly the earth can open up at your feet and the worst can happen, it also, paradoxically, leaves you more afraid of everything else.

Only a catastrophe gets our attention. We want them, we depend on them. As long as they happen somewhere else. This is where California comes in. Mud slides, brush fires, coastal erosion, mass killings, et cetera. We can relax and enjoy these disasters because in our hearts we feel that California deserves whatever it gets. Californians invented the concept of life-style. This alone warrants their doom.

Out of some persistent sense of large-scale ruin, we kept inventing hope.

Because we're suffering from brain fade. We need an occasional catastrophe to break up the incessant bombardment of information.

Catastrophe is our bedtime story.

Everyone wants to own the end of the world.

Everybody wants to own the end of the world.

Only a catastrophe gets our attention. We want them, we need them, we depend on them. As long as they happen somewhere else. This is where California comes in. Mud slides, brush fires, coastal erosions, earthquakes, mass killings, et cetera. We can relax and enjoy these disasters because in our hearts we feel that California deserves what it gets. Californians invented the concept of life-style. This alone warrants their doom.

hair. "The flow is constant," Alfonse said. "Words, pictures, numbers, facts, graphics, statistics, specks, waves, particles, motes. Only a catastrophe gets our attention. We want them, we need them, we depend on them.

It's a blip, not a catastrophe.

Because I don't care what anyone says or how often or winningly they say it: no one will ever, ever be able to persuade me that life is some awesome, rewarding treat. Because, here's the truth: life is a catastrophe. The basic fact of existence – of walking around trying to feed ourselves and find friends and whatever else we do – is a catastrophe.

Because, here's the truth: life is catastrophe.

Because, here's the truth: life is catastrophe. The basic fact of existence—of walking around trying to feed ourselves and find friends and whatever else we do—is catastrophe.

I don't care what anyone says or how often or winningly they say it: no one will ever, ever be able to persuade me that life is some awesome, rewarding treat. Because, here's the truth: life is catastrophe.

Even in some smoky post-catastrophe Manhattan you could imagine him swaying genially at the door in the rags of his former uniform, the Barbours up in the apartment burning old National Geographics for warmth, living off gin and tinned crabmeat.