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“This whole project is … nefasto. You cannot create a thriving community, let alone a new civilization, by putting together a bunch of people who are no fucking trouble! Scuzi, pardon me mama, but it cannot be done. You want Paradise, you gotta build it on war, on blood, on envy and naked greed. The people who build it have got to be egomaniacs and lunatics, they’ve gotta want it so damn bad they’ll trample you underfoot, they’ve got to be charismatic and charming and they’ve got to steal your wife from under your nose and then sting you for a loan of ten bucks.
Michel Faber's The Book of Strange New Things has a recipe for building civilizations.
Tartaglione was panting. His vocal cords were in no shape for such heavy use. “You really believe the world is coming to an end?” said Peter. “Jesus fucking Christ, padre, what kind of a Christian are you? Isn’t this the whole fucking point for you? Isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for for thousands of years?
