Quotes About Survival

Interface evolves toward transparency. The one you have to devote the least conscious effort to, survives, prospers.

The biosphere only survives, today, by virtue of what prosthetic assistance we can afford it. The assemblers might keep that going, were the klept to founder. But I don't trust that some last convulsive urge to short-term profit, some terminal short-sightedness, mightn't bring an end to everything.

You dead awhile there, mon." "It happens," he said. "I'm getting used to it." "You dealin' wi' th' darkness, mon." "Only game in town, it looks like." "Jah love, Case

there was coffee. Life would go on.

Night City was like a deranged experiment in social Darwinism, designed by a bored researcher who kept one thumb permanently on the fast-forward button.

If I blow the conch and they don't come back; then we've had it. We shan't keep the fire going. We'll be like animals. We'll never be rescued. If you don't blow, we'll soon be animals anyway.

Fancy thinking the Beast was something you could hunt and kill!

Which is better -- to be a pack of painted Indians like you are, or to be sensible like Ralph is? Which is better -- to have rules and agree, or to hunt and kill? Which is better, law and rescue, or hunting and breaking things up?

He forgot his wounds, his hunger and thirst, and became fear; hopeless fear

There is nothing in it of course. Just a feeling. But you can feel as if you're not hunting, but - being hunted, as if something's behind you all the time in the jungle.

I only wanted to keep up a fire!

Qué ilusión, pensar que la Fiera era algo que se podía cazar, matar!

O que vocês preferem — ter regras e estar de acordo, ou caçar e matar?

Quizá haya una bestia… quizá solo estemos nosotros

Ralph wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man's heart, and the fall through the air of the true, wise friend called Piggy.

There isn't anyone to help you. Only me. And I'm the Beast. . .

William Golding

Not them. Didn't you hear what the pilot said? About the atom bomb? They're all dead.

He forgot his wounds, his hunger and thirst, and became fear; hopeless fear on flying feet, rushing through the forest toward the open beach.

They knew very well why he hadn't: because of the enormity of the knife descending and cutting into living flesh; because of the unbearable blood.

Which is better—to have rules and agree, or to hunt and kill?

The pile of guts was a black blob of flies that buzzed like a saw. After a while these flies found Simon. Gorged, they alighted by his runnels of sweat and drank. They tickled under his nostrils and played leapfrog on his thighs. They were black and iridescent green and without number; and in front of Simon, the Lord of the Flies hung on his stick and grinned.

William Golding

Demek istediÄŸim ÅŸu... Bizden baÅŸka canavar yok belki...