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quotes of the day...apocolypse

Discussion in 'Sci-Fi and Fantasy Talk' started by painkiller64, Mar 26, 2009.

  1. painkiller64

    painkiller64 Avoid A Void

    Joined:
    Sep 15, 2006
    Location:
    kansas
    The more I think of a people calmly developing, in regions excluded from
    our sight and deemed uninhabitable by our sages, powers surpassing our
    most disciplined modes of force, and virtues to which our life, social and
    political, becomes antagonistic in proportion as our civilisation advances—
    the more devoutly I pray that ages may yet elapse before there emerge into
    sunlight our inevitable destroyers.
    —Edward Bulwer-Lytton, The Coming Race (1871)

    The darkness grew apace; a cold wind began to blow in freshening gusts
    from the east, and the showering white flakes in the air increased in number.
    From the edge of the sea came a ripple and whisper. Beyond these lifeless
    sounds the world was silent. Silent? It would be hard to convey the stillness of
    it. All the sounds of man, the bleating of sheep, the cries of birds, the hum of
    insects, the stir that makes the background of our lives—all that was over.
    —H. G.Wells, The Time Machine: An Invention (1895)

    How small the vastest of human catastrophes may seem, at a distance of a few million miles.
    —H. G.Wells, ‘‘The Star’’ (1897)

    I felt the first inkling of a thing that presently grew quite clear in my mind,
    that oppressed me for many days, a sense of dethronement, a persuasion
    that I was no longer a master, but an animal among the animals, under the
    Martian heel.With us it would be as with them, to lurk and watch, to run
    and hide; the fear and empire of man had passed away.
    —H. G.Wells, TheWar of theWorlds (1898)

    By millions of years, time winged onward through eternity, to the end—the
    end, of which, in the old-earth days, I had thought remotely, and in hazily
    speculative fashion. And now, it was approaching in a manner of which none
    had ever dreamed.
    —William Hope Hodgson, The House on the Borderland (1908)

    The world was held in a savage gloom—cold and intolerable. Outside, all
    was quiet—quiet! From the dark room behind me, came the occasional, soft
    thud of falling matter—fragments of rotting stone. So time passed, and night
    grasped the world, wrapping it in wrappings of impenetrable blackness.
    —William Hope Hodgson, The House on the Borderland (1908)

    Every time we mention the world, we must remember it is going to end.
    —Edwin Balmer and PhilipWylie, WhenWorlds Collide (1932)

    It is a new intoxication—annihilation. It multiplies every emotion.
    —Edwin Balmer and PhilipWylie, WhenWorlds Collide (1932)

    ‘‘This storm you talk of . . .’’
    ‘‘It will be such a one, my son, as the world has not seen before. There will
    be no safety by arms, no help from authority, no answer in science. It will
    rage till every flower of culture is trampled, and all human things are leveled
    in a vast chaos.’’
    —James Hilton, Lost Horizon (1933)

    This is written in the elder days as the Earth rides close to the rim of eternity,
    edging nearer to the dying Sun, into which her two inner companions of the
    solar system have already plunged to a fiery death. The Twilight of the Gods
    is history; and our planet drifts on and on into that oblivion from which
    nothing escapes, to which time itself may be dedicated in the final cosmic
    reckoning.
    —Clifford D. Simak, ‘‘The Creator’’ (1935)

    Even if this is the end of humankind, we dare not take away the chances
    some other life-form might have to succeed where we failed. If we retaliate,
    there will not be a dog, a deer, an ape, a bird or fish or lizard to carry the
    evolutionary torch. In the name of justice, if we must condemn and destroy
    ourselves, let us not condemn all life along with us! We are heavy enough
    with sins. If we must destroy, let us stop with destroying ourselves!
    —Theodore Sturgeon, ‘‘Thunder and Roses’’ (1947)

    ‘‘Look,’’ whispered Chuck, and George lifted his eyes to heaven. (There is
    always a last time for everything.)
    Overhead, without any fuss, the stars were going out.
    —Arthur C. Clarke, ‘‘The Nine Billion Names of God’’ (1952)

    They are so confident that they will run on forever. But they won’t run on.
    They don’t know that this is all one huge big blazing meteor that makes a
    pretty fire in space, but that some day it’ll have to hit.
    —Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451 (1954)

    The intense heat is turning Metaluna into a radio-active sun. The temperature
    must be thousands of degrees by now. A lifeless planet. And still, its existence
    is useful to someone. As a sun, its heat is, I hope, warming the surface of
    some other world, giving light and warmth to those who may need it.
    —Franklin Coen and Edward G. O’Callaghan, This Island Earth
    (film, 1955)

    The world had gone darker and grimmer and heavier in this moment while
    history turned around me in the silence and the night. A new world lay
    ahead. All I could be sure of was that it would be a harsh world, full of sweat
    and bloodshed and uncertainty. But a real world, breathing and alive.
    —C. L. Moore, Doomsday Morning (1957)

    The Planet drifts to random insect doom.
    —William S. Burroughs, Naked Lunch (1959)

    So he left the lagoon and entered the jungle again, within a few days was
    completely lost, following the lagoons southward through the increasing rain
    and heat, attacked by alligators and giant bats, a second Adam searching for
    the forgotten paradises of the reborn Sun.
    —J. G. Ballard, The Drowned World (1962)

    I, uh, don’t think it’s quite fair to condemn a whole program because of a
    single slip-up, sir.
    —Stanley Kubrick, Terry Southern, and Peter George, Dr. Strangelove,
    or, How I Learned to StopWorrying and Love the Bomb (film, 1963)

    A terrible cold world of ice and death had replaced the living world we had
    always known. Outside there was only the deadly cold, the frozen vacuum of
    an ice age, life reduced to mineral crystals. [. . .] I drove at great speed, as if escaping, pretending we could escape. Although I knew there was no escape from the ice, from the ever-diminishing remnant of time that encapsuled us.
    —Anna Kavan, Ice (1967)

    She thinks of the Heat Death of the Universe. A logarithmic of those late
    summer days, endless as the Irish serpent twisting through jewelled manuscripts
    forever, tail in mouth, the heat pressing, bloating, doing violence.
    The Los Angeles sky becomes so filled and bleached with detritus that it
    loses all colour and silvers like a mirror, reflecting back the fricasseeing
    earth. Everything becomes warmer and warmer, each particle of matter
    becoming more agitated, more excited until the bonds shatter, the glues fail,
    the deodorants lose their seals. She imagines the whole of New York City
    melting like a Dali into a great chocolate mass, a great soup, the Great Soup
    of New York.
    —Pamela Zoline, ‘‘The Heat Death of the Universe’’ (1967)

    Silence. It flashed from the woodwork and the walls; it smote him with an
    awful, total power, as if generated by a vast mill. It rose from the floor, up out
    of the tattered gray wall-to-wall carpeting. It unleashed itself from the broken
    and semi-broken appliances in the kitchen, the dead machines which hadn’t
    worked in all the time Isidore had lived here. From the useless pole lamp in
    the living room it oozed out, meshing with the empty and wordless descent
    of itself from the fly-specked ceiling. It managed in fact to emerge from every
    object within his range of vision, as if it—the silence—meant to supplant all
    things tangible. Hence it assailed not only his ears but his eyes; as he stood by the inert TV set he experienced the silence as visible and, in its own way, alive. Alive! He had often felt its austere approach before; when it came it burst in without subtlety, evidently unable to wait. The silence of the world could not rein back its greed. Not any longer. Not when it had virtually won.
    —Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (1968)

    Various Horsemen are abroad, doing their various Apocalyptic things.
    —George Alec Effinger, ‘‘Wednesday, November 15, 1967’’ (1971)

    The line between inner and outer landscapes is breaking down. Earthquakes
    can result from seismic upheavals within the human mind. The whole
    random universe of the industrial age is breaking down into cryptic
    fragments.
    —William S. Burroughs, preface to Love and Napalm: Export U.S.A.
    by J. G. Ballard (1972)

    In his mind Vaughan saw the whole world dying in a simultaneous automobile
    disaster, millions of vehicles hurled together in a terminal congress of
    spurting loins and engine coolant.
    —J. G. Ballard, Crash (1973)

    The past seems like a long horror story of grinding toil, men and women
    teeming like rodents—and, of course, the final self-inflicted end as the world
    went up in flames, roasting the men and women in it like the corpses of
    animals over one of their own spits.
    —Hilary Bailey, ‘‘The Ramparts’’ (1974)

    Let me tell you about the end of the world. It happened fifty years ago. Maybe
    a hundred. And since then it’s been lovely. I mean it. Nobody tries to bother
    you. You can relax. You know what? I like the end of the world.
    —Thomas M. Disch, 334 (1974)

    The day came. The wrath descended. Sin, guilt, and retribution? The manic
    psychoses of those entities we referred to as states, institutions, systems—the
    powers, the thrones, the dominations—the things which perpetually merge
    with men and emerge from them? Our darkness, externalized and visible?
    However you look upon these matters, the critical point was reached. The
    wrath descended.
    —Philip K. Dick and Roger Zelazny, Deus Irae (1976)

    The catastrophe story, whoever may tell it, represents a constructive and
    positive act by the imagination rather than a negative one, an attempt to
    confront the terrifying void of a patently meaningless universe by challenging
    it at its own game. [. . .] Each one of these fantasies represents an arraignment
    of the finite, an attempt to dismantle the formal structure of time and
    space which the universe wraps around us at the moment we first achieve
    consciousness.
    —J. G. Ballard, ‘‘Cataclysms and Dooms’’ (1977)

    Nothing like a little cosmic cataclysm to take my mind off jammed sinuses.
    —Edward Bryant, ‘‘Particle Theory’’ (1977)

    I can see we’re in for a fabulous evening’s apocalypse.
    —Douglas Adams, ‘‘Fit the Fifth,’’ episode of The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide
    to the Galaxy (radio series, 1978)

    Apocalypse is the eye of a needle, through which we pass into a different
    world.
    —George Zebrowski, Macrolife (1979)

    Kids! Bringing about Armageddon can be dangerous. Do not attempt it in
    your own home.
    —Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate
    Prophecies of Agnes Nutter,Witch (1990)

    Some people dote on contemplating disasters.
    —William Gibson and Bruce Sterling, The Difference Engine (1991)

    Chaos is found in greatest abundance wherever order is being sought. It
    always defeats order, because it is better organized.
    —Terry Pratchett, Interesting Times (1995)

    Night is falling. The gods have left us for those who please them better. Our
    time in the world is passed, and we are as wasted as the wind against the
    mountains. Shadows are falling, the gods have left us.
    —Jim Grimsley, ‘‘Free in Asveroth’’ (1998)

    If you look at the whole life of the planet, we—you know, Man—has only
    been around for a few blinks of an eye. So if the infection wipes us all out,
    that is a return to normality.
    —Alex Garland, 28 Days Later (film, 2002)
     

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