Author of quotes: Douglas Coupland. Page 2

Time, Kid; so much, so much time left until the end of my life that sometimes I'm going crazy from how slow time can drag and how quickly my body ages. But I don't allow myself to think about it. I have to remind myself that the time frightens me only when I think I have to spend it alone. Sometimes it's just scary how much my thoughts are fixed on trying to gather strength, before spending the night in the room alone.

I used to work in one place as long as there was something to learn. Then everything went downhill: I came into work until noon, slept under the table, was insolent to the limit. Was waiting to get fired. Now I remember and wonder why I didn't quit himself?

If this was love, then some low-calorie.

It's like, well... when you sleep with someone, absolutely not knowing what to do in bed, but sure that he's a real macho man; and here he is scratching you in the same part of the body, thinking that they found your "Magic Point", what really annoys you terribly.

Wake up - the world lives.

- I think, sir? - I stumble. - I think in order to be happy - to approach the future with the right, positive attitude, - not to dwell on thoughts that life is not as good as it once was. Life now is supposed to be better than ever in the past and in the future it will inevitably be better and better.

Remember: the moment when you most acutely feel the loneliness, this is the moment when most needed to be alone.

History dead, and is alive that today, right now. The story is jealous of the fact that here and now, jealous of the living.

What is the difference - to die at sixty-five or seventy-five? The extra ten years... What can they mean? Or eighty-five? An extra twenty. She craved these years, so grieved about their loss, and now, when she returned them, couldn't decipher their hidden meaning. Although, if you figure out what the point was in my first sixty-five years? Maybe the only important thing was the desire to live and that you are given such an opportunity? Forget about thousands of haiku, which you could now write. Forget to take cello lessons or straining in the field of philanthropy. But why should he?
She thought about her life and how lost felt most of it. She thought about how all the truths she had been taught to believe is immutable, invariably come into conflict with life it is. <...> Oddly enough, while she was sick, the feeling of loss was not as acute. It's the only thing she didn't doubt. The illness forced her to seek knowledge and comfort in places that she never knew existed. The illness forced her to meet and enter into dialogue with compatriots which otherwise would have remained shadows inside their cars idly waiting next to it until the green light. But, perhaps, she will continue to look for new places previously forbidden - not because you must, but because she made that choice because it was the only genuine way out of her fragile and lifeless dying? Now she will learn to see the human soul in all, whomever and wherever encountered - in the supermarket, on-site dog parks, the library - all those souls, brighter, perhaps blinding lights...

He died at thirty, buried at seventy.

- Then, in the seventy-ninth, I thought that in the future the world will be... to grow, to evolve. It seemed to me that we will strive to make the world cleaner, safer, more comfortable. And the result was that people had become smarter, wiser and kinder.
And?..
- People do not become different. No, the world has changed, in the sense that life has become faster, and the world itself is interesting and even somewhat cleaner. I, for example - they don't smoke like I used to. And people are all the same. They even... I'd say... well how does this... what to call the opposite of progress?
In our case, regress.
- That's it, people, as you said, there regressed.

You're right, a spleen is a strange organ. He's not much we need, but apparently present in the body in case we evolyutsioniruet: will grow our wings or tentacles there. Then the spleen will need for their work. That's my theory.

"Dreams come true!" From this line I want to cry. We feed this nonsense to children who will get from us is that of a bloody war initiated by those who died a long time ago, but I was so angry and damaged that passed on their hatred to future generations. Dreams do not come true. Dreams die. Dreams lose their meaning. Dreams buy meth from a dealer at the far end of the Park. Dreams suffocate. Dreams develop cancer of the spleen.

What creature doesn't matter - the amoeba or is there moose, no matter - it makes everything just move. Trying to avoid being eaten, killed, wants to reproduce. What is the nature of this divine computer program that causes us to develop? Why is our DNA one day say, "you Know what? I'm sick to survive, damnit. Arrived."