Glen Duncan Quotes
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Literature is humanity's broad-minded alter-ego, with room in its heart for monsters, even for you. It's humanity without the judgement.
Life's generally artless ... but it does get these occasional hard-ons for plot. It connects things, nefariously, behind your back, and before you know it you're in the final act of a lousy movie.
Snow makes cities innocent again, reveals the frailty of the human gesture against the void.
That's what happens when you keep a secret from someone you love: you start to hate them for allowing you to prove your own willingness to deceive them.
Words betrayed her: beautiful butterflies in her mind; dead moths when she opened her mouth for their release into the world.
When you're a kid it's people's cruelty that makes you cry, then when you're an adult it's their kindness.
You think God will never forgive you, but the only God is beauty and beauty always forgives. It forgives with its infinite indifference.
There is no God and that's His only commandment.
With adolescent egotism and a lot of money one can pretty much rule the world.
Coffee justifies the existence of the word 'aroma'.
The message is clear: By all means become an abomination -- but only while unhinged by grief or wrath.
Poets suffer occasional delusions of angelhood and find themselves condemned to express it in the bric-a-brac tongues of the human world. Lots of them go mad.
Life, like the boring drunk at the office party, keeps seeking you out, leaning on you, killing you with pointless yarns and laughing bad-breathed in your face at its own unfunny jokes.
Nicotine and alcohol embraced in my system like long-parted siblings, grateful to me for reuniting them.
You love life because life's all there is.
We go to the past to lay the blame - since the past can't argue. We go to our past selves to account for our present miseries.
The first horror is there's horror. The second is you accommodate it.
Life is nothing but a statement of what happens to be.
Nothing holds love together like shared vice or collusive perversion.
I'm too conceited for therapy.
No artist knows everything... but since every artist knows more than he can tell, all art is lying by omission.
Grace only exists to be fallen from.
Renounce love and you can achieve demonic focus.
Kneecaps only exist to get hit with claw-hammers; grace only exists to be fallen from.
One day the ordinariness will be terminally punctuated by the extraordinary full stop of death.
I suppose the word "unbearable" is a lie by definition. Unless you kill yourself immediately after using it.
Bliss defies description, obviously, since it annihilates you, since you're not there to experience it. You get the lead-up and the come-down, never the zenith.
Peace is purchased in the currency of loss.
One knows one's madnesses, by and large. By and large the knowledge is vacuous. The notion of naming the beast to conquer it is the idiot optimism of psychotherapy.
Only meaning can make a difference and we all know there's no meaning. All stories express a desire for meaning, not meaning itself. Therefore any difference knowing the story makes is a delusion.
No amount of violence you've done to others prepares you for violence done to yourself.
I hated the words. Each one was like a big live insect in my mouth.
The flesh had infinity in it. I must know every inch by touch yet every inch renewed its mystery the instant my hand moved on. Delightful endless futility.
Your ideal possession candidate's a thirteen-year-old recently orphaned schizophrenic girl three days away from her period on her way to see the shrink with whom she's romantically besotted.
My mother once told me she thought hell would be nothing more than being given a glimpse of God--then having it taken away, forever.
My parents believe in the happy endings to the stories of their children.
Every present anger derives from past weakness.
I don't know how one should live - but I know that one should live.
I'm in love, truly, madly, deeply in love with perception.
Home pulls. It draws you back to tell you you don't belong.
We’re the worst thing because for us the worst thing is the best thing. And it’s only the best thing for us if it’s the worst thing for someone else.
I'm an American. We're a people diseased with progress.
If Im going to invest the time in a novel, I want something more than the entertainment you get out of most genre fiction.
That's the problem with being alive ... You've got to keep thinking of what to do.
I'll tell you something,' she said. 'I'm not sure I ever really liked him.' Adam?' I said. 'I don't blame you.' 'Not Adam,' she said, struggling to swallow a greedily chomped chunk. 'God.
Pain revealed the paltry dimensions of love. The paltry dimensions of everything, in fact, except pain.
Just because life's meaningless doesn't mean we can't experience it meaningfully.
The only animal from which humans have nothing to learn, in fact, is the sheep. Humans have already learned everything the sheep's got to teach.
Falling in love makes the unknown known. Falling out of love reverses the process.
Pain is beyond reason, an obliterating giant stupidity to which all your history of jokes and nuance and ideas and caresses is nothing, simply nothing.