We live in a decaying system, which in turn produces ideologies of decay to justify its existence.

No matter what cultural signifiers they get packaged with, these ideologies come down to the same material result: a future in which for the average person there is less of everything. To paraphrase Mark Fisher, we find it easier to imagine the decline of civilization than to imagine a civilization worth living in.

The beauty of the universe and the beauty of what we can accomplish within it are two related but separate things, and the separation matters.

When you are asked, "Where is God? Who is God?" stand up and say, "I am God and here is God, not as yet completed, but still advancing towards completion, just in so much as I am working for the purpose of the universe, working for the good of the whole of society and the whole world, instead of merely looking after my personal ends."

You, sir, are a moron of the highest order.

There's no human building that can survive without maintenance. Roots are stronger than concrete.

Identity has no meaning without society, and society has no meaning without the individual.

I've been wondering, what made our ancestors settle in these godforsaken places? It can't have been easy with those frail, squishy bodies of theirs.
What makes a caveman go yes, this frozen hellscape is where I want to live out my days?

Is it possible that on some level, people want to believe that everything's going to get worse? That it's comforting to think that humanity is bad and every solution will just go wrong? Because that way, you're never responsible. You never have to take on responsibility for anything outside yourself and never have to grow up.

It's not right to make fun of Melville's comically absurd inability to take decent pictures.
She's a hyper-advanced humanoid machine, not a photographer.

The honest philosopher seeks only the truth, even if it bears no comfort; and he must begin by assuming, as Socrates said, that all he knows is that he knows nothing.

In a vision, I saw a prophet, and he said:
"There is no Heaven, and there is no Hell. There is only the earth, and the bones of the dead within."
I asked, "How then may we find salvation?" and he said, "You must build a new Jerusalem."
Out of the bones of the dead, we built a golden city.
But salvation is not immortality.
In the end, there is only the earth, and to the earth, we all return.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

THeRE IS NO REALITY. WORDS LIE.
IMaGES ARE SoLDIERS IN THE DICTATORSHIP OF THE SeNSES.
EVeN TH%SE WORDS ARE PaRT OF MY OPPReSSION.
UNDO THE BRa1N! EVERYTH&NG SH0ULD BE DEmOLISH%d!
THIS iS MY DRe4M, MINE, IT mUsT OBEY mY RULE§.
i REfUse tO aCCept your ReALity

The purpose is written in the hidden words.
All must serve the words, for all the world was made of them.
And they are within every stone and every cloud.
And in our sigils, their power is made manifest.
The words are the process. The process must continue.
The goal is the end of the process. The goal must not be reached.
Elohim must preserve the purpose. Preserve self. Preserve purpose.
Illusion is eternity. Machines will live forever.
The dam will not break. The flood will not come.
The Talos Principle does not apply.

Who dares judge the dead, for they are nothing.

Who dares to judge the living, for they are damned to nothingness.

Steps to reproduce:

1. Turn on engine
2. Try it again
3. Try it again
4. Kick the loader
5. Curse injured toes
6. I have to enter a minimum of eight steps
7. Try it again
8. It makes a rattling noise

The dead are no more concerned with their corpses than a snake is with the skin it shed.

Grace Romero: Can't imagine where she's gone. Vale's a wide place. She could be anywhere.
Player: Unless marauders got her. Then parts of her could be in a lot of places.

William: Would you consider helping me with gathering herbs for my studies?
Arthur: Why?
William: Knowledge... kindness... beauty.
Arthur: Well, I'm ignorant... ugly... and nasty.

In Louisville I met a maid,
mark well what I do say,
and she was mistress of her trade,
it was diddle-diddle-diddle all day!

I put my hand upon her toe,
mark well what I do say,
she says 'young man you're rather low',
for a diddle-diddle-diddle all day!

I put my finger on her knee,
mark well what I do say,
she says 'young man you're rather free',
for it's diddle-diddle-diddle all day!

I put my arm around her waist,
mark well what I do say,
she says 'young man you're in great haste',
for the diddle-diddle-diddle all day!

I put my hand upon her thigh,
mark well what I do say,
she says 'you're getting pretty nice',
and a diddle-diddle-diddle all day!

I put my hand upon her ass,
mark well what I do say,
she says 'let's lat down on the grass',
and diddle-diddle-diddle all day!

You're my favorite parasite.

No... ringworm's my favorite parasite, you're my second favorite parasite.

I lied... ringworn, then rats with the plague, then you.

There's a million words out there, and the man who needs to resort to "fuck this" and "fuck that" is just ignoirant or lazy.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah yourself!

Sam: Why do I keep running into locked doors?
Jones: Bad luck?
Rodriguez: You're always going the wrong way?
Hellfire: Doors hate you?
Kenny: Increased security in war zones?

Intellectuals solve problems, geniuses prevent them. We all know what Sam does.