Bokelskere.no

It is harder to be unhappy when you are eating

“All you robots want to know why my wife ate Drãno?” Dwayne asked his thunderstruck audience. “I’ll tell you why: She was that kind of machine!”

They killed themselves by destroying their own environment with yeast shit.

I was making myself hideously uncomfortable by not narrowing my attention to details of life which were immediately important, and by refusing to believe what my neighbors believed.

“Takes all kinds of people to make up a world,” said Trout.

They rode in silence for a while, and then the driver made another good point. He said he knew that his truck was turning the atmosphere into poison gas, and that the planet was being turned into pavement so his truck could go anywhere. “So I’m committing suicide,” he said.

Their childhoods were over. They were dying now.

People took such awful chances with chemicals and their bodies because they wanted the quality of their lives to improve.

I think I am trying to make my head as empty as it was when I was born onto this damaged planet fifty years ago.

He is what he is because of (…) microscopic amounts of chemicals which he ate or failed to eat on that particular day.

God knows the past, the present and the future. In that case, he had placed her in this world with the full knowledge that she would end up killing herself, and he would no longer shocked by her actions. -- This would work as great rationalisation for committing any kind of sin.

The human race must procreate. Society needs workers. A couple has to have a reason to stay together even when love has ceased to exist, and a country needs soldiers, politicians and artists.

After Doreen left, I wondered why I couldn't go the whole way doing what I should any more. This made me sad and tired. Then I wondered why I couldn't go the whole way doing what I shouldn't, the way Doreen did, and this made me even sadder and more tired.

I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart: I am, I am, I am.

To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream.

If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days.

So I began to think maybe it was true that when you were married and had children it was like being brainwashed, and afterward you went about as numb as a slave in a totalitarian state.

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.