Dark Quotes

Expectations lead to disappointment. "Have hope," my mother used to say, "not expectations. You might just be surprised, but not disappointed."

Ulrich Nielsen: Amazing! How did you do that?
Mikkel Nielsen: Dad, the question isn't how, the question is when.

We all face the same end. Those above have long forgotten us. They do not judge us. In death I am all alone, and my only judge... is me

But every decision for something is a decision against something else

Have you ever heard the term "bootstrap paradox"? Well, in a bootstrap paradox an artifact, or any information, is sent back to the past from the future. And this, in turn, creates an infinite cycle in which the artifact doesn't have a real origin anymore. It exists without ever having been created. To put it simply, this book has traveled back through time. It found me before I even wrote it. It's all a question of origin. Where is the beginning? When is the beginning? Is there a beginning at all? The world is full of such paradoxes.

What we know is a drop, what we don't know is an ocean.

My mother told me all about the old world, before the flood. She said it had been of a different kind: sinking. She would braid my hair and recount harrowing tales, stories of my father and of demons from the underworlds. She said all is forgiven but nothing forgotten. Then the darkness in her eyes was stronger than the light. And her words flowed like waves. She said all was well now the way it was. That all occupied its own space, in the past as in the here and now. When she spoke like this, something would come over her. She would pull hard on my braids, as if to punish me for something that dwelled in a place deep within her. Something that tugged at her from the center, like a hunger that could not be satisfied. She spoke of yesterday as though it were before her very eyes. As if today was but a veil that shrouded in shadow all that was real to her. The old world came to haunt her like a ghost that whispered to her in a dream, how to erect the new world, stone by stone. From then on, I knew that nothing changes. That all things remain as before. The spinning wheel turns, round and round in a circle. One fate tied to the next. A thread, red like blood, that cleaves together all our deeds. One cannot unravel the knots. But they can be severed. He severed ours, with the sharpest blade. Yet something remains behind that cannot be severed. An invisible bond. On many a night, he tugs at it. And then I wake with a start, knowing that nothing ceases to be. That all remains.

But every decision for something is a decision against something else

We're not free in what we do, because we're not free in what we want. We can't overcome what's deep within us.

I thought I had more time. Why does everyone say that? "To have time." How can we say that, when it's time that has us?

People are peculiar creatures. All their actions are driven by desire, their characters forged by pain. As much as they might try to suppress the pain, to repress desire they cannot liberate themselves from eternal servitude to their feelings. As long as the storm rages within them, they cant find peace, Not in life not in death. And so, day after day they will do all that must be done. Pain is their ship. Desire, their compass.

That's when I knew that nothing changes. That everything remains the same. The spinning wheel turns. Round and round. One destiny leads to the next. A thread, blood-red, connects all our actions.

What we know is a drop. What we don't know is an ocean