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Bruce Crown Books

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“Europeans do not understand North America but for the varying news outlets they read, most of which are in their own languages. Filled with their own cultural bias or lacklustre understanding, their analysis of the average North American lacks the most basic feeling. Simply because we can ride helicopters to our villas in the country or accumulate vast amounts of wealth and buy houses in Europe they think we care for nothing but money. The British especially, seeing their so-called brutish empire now long dead have only their incomprehensible accents to hold dear and berate the North American for not speaking true English. Yet it’s another sign of status and of money. But North Americans don’t care for money in the slightest. Most of us spend it the moment we acquire it whether in intelligence or not. Money is nothing to us but the idol and ideal of success. We are the true idealists. Of course we have set our ideal on the wrong idol; the only true idol for a man ought to be his passion, and a passion cannot be money since it is tangible and sensible.”

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Book:The Romantic and The Vile
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“God’s angels are indifferent and apathetic. They have no feelings. They know nothing of passion, of love, of beauty, or even of justice. They understand nothing. They are the indoctrinated employees in God’s investment bank. They do nothing but praise themselves and each other and their boss and their company. Opportunistic cheaters and thieves of love and justice and beauty they are. Their CEO though, isn’t God but Satan. Though without a doubt on the surface it seems as if angels work for the Lord, and they love our God and praise Him, but secretly and really, they answer to the major shareholder, Lucifer. They bow to him unconditionally and without thought. They themselves, like the weak-willed who ought to have fallen, the sheep and the scorpions, lacked the courage and bravery to stand up to God when he founded the bank of existence. They agreed to the company policy but work secretly to overthrow it in disdain at their creator’s vision. The boldest and courageous of the angels is in fact Satan himself.”

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Book:The Romantic and The Vile
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“It takes courage and strength to be sensitive to things and even more strength and courage to own up to it or be vocal about it. Robots, the only things with a perfect lack of emotional capacity, are easily controlled, and I suddenly realized that’s why the military often trains people to suppress their emotions. Unfortunately for them, humans aren't machines. We feel, we love, we cry, we despair, and we rejoice. Anyone who’s ever tried to convince me not to feel is someone I shouldn’t have trusted. The only reason you should shut off your emotions and emulate a robot is if you're doing horrible things. How fatal my decisions have been. How many people would be loving, rejoicing, and feeling right now rather than crying indefinitely in the depths of the afterlife? If only I’d figured this out sooner.”

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Book:Forlorn Passions
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“The car housed a hysterical bumper sticker: Save the Planet, and I permitted a moment of contemplation to truly bask in this thought. Save the planet? What a joke. Save the planet from what? From ourselves? And save it for what? For ourselves? It was a kind of perpetual stupidity in a tug-of-war battle over trivial matters. Only imbeciles see things in black and white: liberal or conservative, yes or no, this or that. Those in power laugh at those people in their morally inverted shades of grey, basking in the labels they've created so the people are easier to control.”

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Book:Forlorn Passions
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“Trust me. What a phrase. Is it a phrase or an idiom? I was never a wordsmith and I was too far along in life to even attempt to tackle a problem as complicated as words. Do writers struggle as much with words as a painter does with his paint and his brush? “Okay,” it is impossible not to trust a beautiful woman. Even macho noir anti-heroes who talk about staying out of trouble and doin’ nothin’ for nobody always get sucked into intricate snares set for them by beautiful women… I would not be an exception.”

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Book:How Dim the Promised Land
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“The sun tried to shine through the clouds but its light was dimmed even in us; high noon approached. I looked outside through the tinted windows at the people promenading down Madison. Couples held hands, bankers squeezed through crowds of window shoppers late for their daily thieving but all of them, even the poor, seemed content with existence, some even seemed happy. Nearly everyone’s outer shell was delicate and gracious that at the end of it all, on the border of nonexistence, each and everyone was happy to be alive. Everyone carried their heads with a radiance past the space they occupied and glided through time like flamenco dancers in a studio as big as the planet. Everyone wore masks that hid their sorrow (either that or they were sincerely happy) or wore armor that lightened the burden on their shoulders. Worst of all, I could not detect ever a flicker of thought; brains mired behind viral images and videos of people making even greater fools of themselves than they already were. And as the greatest fool of them all, I walked among them, never having learned to don the mask of happiness.”

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Book:How Dim the Promised Land
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“We enter this universe alone in search of microscopic beauty—and while we love, or are loved by others—we leave this world completely alone, having only found infinite sorrow. Despite there being so many of us, each of us tragically realizes that everyone is on a solitary journey. No one else can see what we see, hear what we hear, feel, what we feel. All we have of each other are glimpses of moments, whispers of experiences, memories of the past we wish we could make eternal, but in the end, we become a faint memory in the minds of a few good people.”

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Book:Chronic Passions
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“Unfortunately for him he looked more like an innocent man on America’s terror watch-list rather than a gallant Viking possessing all the benefits of modernity. More like a villain in a Western fairy tale with his slicked-bouffant obsidian hair rather than the long sun-like curls that all great saviors of the poor have been obliged to possess. I squinted to the side towards him for a second and he caught my gaze almost immediately; his inky irises were comfortable enough to hold my stare indefinitely, his pupils seemed entirely ravenous as opposed to the feminist preferred oceanic turquoise, which for them is a physical demarcation of emotional sensitivity. He seemed like an uncanny bad guy any which way I looked at him, except of course, by his actions thus far…”

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Book:Forlorn Passions
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“A successful actor is praised for never giving up his dreams to become someone else for a living but to dream to be an unmasked artist is a mortal sin in a consumerist society. Artists don't consume; they create things that can’t be consumed with riches. You consume art by seeing, by listening, by feeling, never by buying.”

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Book:How Dim the Promised Land
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“Naturally, the plague of humanity named confidence (or pride to some), which symptoms often render each person to fiercely believe himself to be above average, let them to believe that it was others who were affected by this case but not them. Everyone thought they had the quintessential ability to detach themselves from the cases they were working, even if the victim looked and behaved exactly like their son, daughter, niece or nephew.”

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Book:Chronic Passions
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“First, our enemies were the natives, then they were the Nazis, then after a while it was the communists. Finally, at the pinnacle of what we’re calling civilization, our enemies are the Islamic terrorists. Our enemies seem to change over the course of history along with our ways of fighting them. But what hasn't changed is government profit; politicians and leaders seem to always be getting richer by the blood of our soldiers. Makes you wonder who the real enemy has been all this time.”

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Book:Forlorn Passions
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“How simple the American narrative. Suppose you have two hands. The American political system will cut off both hands. You’ll then hear that those with one hand will be along the upper class and those with two will be part of the elite few. Then politicians will come along and tell you their plan for giving each American two hands. The people will buy into this and fight the disillusioned in favor of the politician. They are never for themselves and the politicians are only for themselves so no one is for the people.”

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Book:How Dim the Promised Land
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“Last call. It was about that time. He’d probably been drinking liquid courage all night, waiting for his chance to hit on her. I had little choice in assuming he was a three-time loser with a wad-of-cash to wave around and a bozo smile to boot. About to prate his many accomplishments as a man of the world and his travels among the world’s top markets.”

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Book:Forlorn Passions
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“All love is alike, knowing no season, sun, or clime, but that damn sun does represent lovers’ ever-changing time. Why does it rise to show lovers nothing lasts? Does it not see those lovers and think, ‘I can eclipse and darken them with a wink. I could kill all love by rising and sending them to their forlorn pasts. I can make them for each other pine, and wait and wait as I rise and set. HA! Buffoons, they are all mine. And every time I shine they owe me a debt.”

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Book:The Romantic and The Vile
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