Hugh Howey Quotes
Killing a man should be harder than waving a length of pipe in their direction. It should take long enough for one's conscience to get in the way.
It was the hubris of each generation to think this anew, to think that their time was special, that all things would come to an end with them.
Fiction challenges us and works its miracles by placing us in the skin of another human being and teaching us empathy.
It’s easy to forgo distractions and to not accumulate things when you have a larger goal on the horizon.
I'd rather excite the imagination of a legion of readers and make pennies from each of them than hold off for a larger chunk of change from only a handful of fans.
Heroes didn't win. The heroes were whoever happened to win. History told their story -- the dead didn't say a word. All of it was bullshit.
We are not the people who made this world, Lukas, but it's up to us to survive it. You need to understand that." "We can't control where we are right now," he mumbled, "just what we do going forward.
When there’s only God to blame, we forgive him. When it’s our fellow man, we destroy him.
I use social media not to ask new people to like my stuff. I use social media to connect with that one reader who likes my stuff.
That's the problem with the truth," Darcy said. "Liars and honest men both claim to have it.
He thought of men like Hitler, Stalin, and Napoleon. All it took was a lot of seemingly decent people to put the wrong person in power and then fall under their spell.
I am about to die. It is September 11, and every cell in my body is acutely aware of my looming demise. The certainty of it. The inevitability. Not years from now, not weeks nor days. Moments.
Statistics were magic like this: they could tell you with near-certainty that a thing would occur, without a hint of when or where.
A seed of hope caught a taste of moisture. Some wishful kernel buried deep, where he was loathe to acknowledge it lest it poison or choke him, began to sprout.
One of the many things that surprised me about Wool is how many of its fans don't consider themselves science fiction readers.
There were certain things, learned so young and remembered so deep that they felt like little stones in the center of her mind.
It turned out that some crooked things looked even worse when straightened. Some tangled knots only made sense once unraveled.
Where's the everlasting peace? Is there even such a thing? Or do we war like alien races war, eternally, against ourselves?
She could tell he was heading toward a bad place. She had seen him go there often enough, knew he had shortcuts he could take to get there in no time.
Our tears are trying to serve a purpose, but we rarely let them. I don't know how we got started with subverting that purpose.
just know that it takes a bit of courage to unlearn that shame, and to be there for others when they try to unlearn that shame, and that it all gets easier after you feel how healthy it is.
Sleep was a vehicle for passing the time, for avoiding the present. It was a trolley for the depressed, the impatient, and the dying.
Imagination just wasn't up to the task of understanding unique and foreign sensations. It knew only how to dampen or augment what it already knew. - Juliette, Pg. 139
He continued to see inevitable events from the past as avoidable, long after they'd taken their course.
This was the mark of deep infatuation, he thought: the desire to watch a woman talk just to see her lips move, to be around her.
To impatient youth, all things took for ever and any kind of waiting was torture. Pg. 221
The idea of saving anything was folly, a life especially. No life had been truly saved, not in the history of mankind. They were merely prolonged. Everything comes to an end.
She could tell he was exhausted, maybe half as much as she was, but he was still willing to do anything for her. It made her sad, someone being this loyal to her.
Maybe he wasn’t there to lead so much as to provide an illusion to the others that they were being led.