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Quote by B.K. Borison

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Lovelight Farms

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B.K. Borison

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“If we can step back at times and have the guts to carve doubt in the concrete stone of our certainties, we can hear the beat of a thinking heart. While listening to the stirring of our deep selves and striving to squeeze through the thicket of our intentions, we may find an atoning venue of understanding and sympathy. ("Beware of the neighbor")”

UnderstandingSympathyIntentionsCertaintiesStep BackBeware Of The NeighborCarve DoubtConcrete StoneDeep SelfThinking Heart
Author:Erik Pevernagie
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“…there is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there. It is hard for me to make sense on any given level. Myself is fabricated, an aberration. I am a noncontingent human being. My personality is sketchy and unformed, my heartlessness goes deep and is persistent. My conscience, my pity, my hopes disappeared a long time ago (probably at Harvard) if they ever did exist. There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it, I have now surpassed. I still, though, hold on to one single bleak truth: no one is safe, nothing is redeemed. Yet I am blameless. Each model of human behavior must be assumed to have some validity. Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do? My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this—and I have countless times, in just about every act I’ve committed—and coming face-to-face with these truths, there is no catharsis. I gain no deeper knowledge about myself, no new understanding can be extracted from my telling. There has been no reason for me to tell you any of this. This confession has meant nothing….”

American PsychoEllis
Book:American Psycho
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“Hopefulness is risky, since it is after all a form of trust, trust in the unknown and the possible, even in discontinuity. To be hopeful is to take on a different persona, one that risks disappointment, betrayal, and there have been major disappointments in recent years. Other times that tale of gloom seems to come from the belief in a univocal narrative, in the idea that everything is heading in one direction, and since it's clearly not all good, it must be bad.”

InspirationalHopeClimate Crisis
Book:Hope in the Dark: The Untold History of People Power
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“ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE is scrawled in blood red lettering on the side of the Chemical Bank near the corner of Eleventh and First and is in print large enough to be seen from the backseat of the cab as it lurches forward in the traffic leaving Wall Street and just as Timothy Price notices the words a bus pulls up, the advertisement for Les Miserables on its side blocking his view, but Price who is with Piece and Piece and twenty-six doesn't seem to care because he tells the driver he will give him five dollars to turn up the radio, "Be My Baby" on WYNN, and the driver, black, not American, does so.”

American PsychoBret Easton EllisBlood Red Lettering
Book:American Psycho
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“Sex is mathematics. Individuality no longer an issue. What does intelligence signify? Define reason. Desire -- meaningless. Intellect is not a cure. Justice is dead. Fear, recrimination, innocence, sympathizing, guilt, waste, failure, grief, were things, emotions, that no one really felt any more. Reflection is useless, the world is senseless. Evil is its only permanence. God is not alive. Love cannot be trusted. Surface, surface, surface was all that anyone found meaning in...this was civilization as I saw it, colossal and jagged...”

SatireAmerican PsychoBret Easton Ellis
Author:Bret Easton Ellis
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“What do you think I do?” And frisky too. “A model?” She shrugs. “An actor?” “No,” I say. “Flattering, but no.” “Well?” “I’m into, oh, murders and executions mostly. It depends.” I shrug. “Do you like it?” she asks, unfazed. “Um… It depends. Why?” I take a bit of sorbet. “Well, most guys I know who work in mergers and acquisitions don’t really like it,” she says. “That’s not what I said,” I say, adding a forced smiled, finishing my J&B. “Oh, forget it.”

American PsychoPatrick Bateman
Book:American Psycho
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