A.J. > A.J.'s Quotes

“they had drawn about them a following of rabble unmatched for variety and sordidness by any they had yet encountered”
― Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian, or, the Evening Redness in the West

“All Moanday, Tearday, Wailsday, Thumpsday, Frightday, Shatterday.”
― James Joyce

“And God said: DELETE lines One to Aleph. LOAD. RUN.
And the Universe ceased to exist.
Then he pondered for a few aeons, sighed, and added: ERASE.
It never had existed”
― Arthur C. Clarke

“them were the days i sat in the hot cupboard throwing jesuits out of the skylight”
― Samuel Beckett, Whoroscope

“well merciful martyrs in heaven.. did you ever hear the likes of it?.. drinking whisky in a first class carriage and us on a pilgrimage to kneel at the feet of the holy father”
― Flann O'Brien, The Hard Life

“Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it.”
― Cormac McCarthy, The Road

“A ghost terrorizing my children is one thing; ...it's another thing entirely when he starts playing my Theremin”
― Homer Simpson

“Spend the years of learning squandering
Courage for the years of wandering
Through a world politely turning
From the loutishness of learning.”
― Samuel Beckett, Collected Poems in English and French

“He wasn’t a religious man but a vision of what Paradise might be came to him, a windowed room afloat on an endless sea, walls packed floor to ceiling with all the books ever written or dreamed of. It was nearly enough to make giving up the world bearable.”
― Michael Crummey, Galore

“Give a man a fire and he's warm for a day, but set fire to him and he's warm for the rest of his life.”
― Terry Pratchett, Jingo

“In the name of Bacon will you chicken me up that egg.
Shall I swallow cave-phantoms?”
― Samuel Beckett, Collected Poems in English and French

“There is no God and we are his prophets.”
― Cormac McCarthy, The Road

“Books don't offer real escape, but they can stop a mind scratching itself raw.”
― David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

“Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.”
― James Joyce, Dubliners