Sarah Waters Quotes

There was nothing in this world that was not a con, suddenly I understood this. Nothing really mattered, and nothing could be lost.

I do get cynical, but what can you do? It doesn't make any difference.

I've reached the point where I hardly care whether I live or die. The world will keep on turning without me, and I can't do anything to change events anyway.

It is perfectly obvious that the whole world is going to hell. The only possible chance that it might not is that we do not attempt to prevent it from doing so.

Maybe I should publish the book. The world is coming to an end anyway!

I don't care where I'm from, nor where I'm going. From hell to hell.

We can destroy ourselves by cynicism and disillusion, just as effectively as by bombs.

The destructive character lives from the feeling, not that life is worth living, but that suicide is not worth the trouble.

An intimate core of my being recognizes that there is nothing in me that can go on: there is no spark; there is no infestation of vaporous miasma that has the capacity to continue, and there is nothing in me that wishes to continue. This moment is, for me, all that there is, and I'm willing to accept it. I'm a worm; I have no soul.

I am a millennial. Destruction is all I know. I no longer care what I wipe from the face of the Earth.

As a Scandinavian, I like hopelessness and the weird austerity in the hopelessness of things.

It was over now, and the meaningless world was tolerable and need not be explained. And never would it be, and how foolish I had ever been to think so.

I was already headed for Hell, I might as well enjoy the ride.

Insect politics, indifferent universe. Bang your head against the wall, but apathy is worse.

She couldn't survey the wreck of the world with an air of casual unconcern.

Everything is the same, nothing is worthwhile, the world is senseless, knowledge strangles.

Good God, what does it matter? If life is a tragedy, or a farce, or a disaster, or anything else, what do I care! Let life be what it likes. Give me a drink, that's what I want just now.

In a world that's ugly and a lie, it's hard to even want to try.

A world without hope, but no despair

I have few illusions: the cause is lost in advance. As for me, I do my part, which is to drag a fairly drab existence to its conclusion.

I have been merely oppressed by the weariness and tedium and vanity of things lately: nothing stirs me, nothing seems worth doing or worth having done: the only thing that I strongly feel worth while would be to murder as many people as possible so as to diminish the amount of consciousness in the world. These times have to be lived through: there is nothing to be done with them.

Seriously, if I switched on the TV and they were showing live footage of an army of fire-breathing pterodactyls machine-gunning people to death on the streets of London right outside my door, I'd be horrified, but not entirely surprised, nor any more scared than I already am. I'd probably just shrug and wait for them to smash the door down. We're so screwed, I don't even know what to worry about first.

"Tell me, Tool, what dominates your thoughts?" The Imass shrugged before replying. "I think of futility, Adjunct." "Do all Imass think about futility?" "No. Few think at all." "Why is that?" The Imass leaned his head to one side and regarded her. "Because, Adjunct, it is futile."

This is the way the world really ends: not with whimper but a desperate chuckle.