“Every reader finds himself. The writer’s work is merely a kind of optical instrument that makes it possible for the reader to discern what, without this book, he would perhaps never have seen in himself.”—Marcel Proust
“If there is a beginning, must there be an end? We burn like fires in our time only to be extinguished. To surrender to the elements’ eternal reclaim. Matter and gas… will this all end one day? Life no longer passing to life, the Earth left barren like the stars above, like the cosmos. Will the hand that lit the flame let it burn down? Let it burn out? Could we, too, become extinct? Or if this fire of life living inside us is meant to go on, who decides? Who tends the flames? Can he reignite the spark even as it grows cold and weak?”—Dana Scully. Biogenisis.
“But there still isn’t a man raking his pile of cigarettes—cigarettes he didn’t really win but only won back because they were his in the first place—that doesn’t have a smirk on his face like he’s the toughest gambler on the whole Mississippi.”—