Quotessence
Home / Topics / Post Apocalyptic Quotes

Post Apocalyptic Quotes

Browse 105 quotes about Post Apocalyptic.

Post Apocalyptic Quotes

“I never thought I would choose a place like this. That I would even consider giving up my existence, to lie in a bed of lies. I never expected a lot of things to happen in my life. I try not to think about anything at all. Especially not how I become this; a man without hope. A man without dreams.”

“On clear nights, I’d sit out on the porch and gaze up at the stars. So many of them, scrawled across a sky so vast it made my head hurt. And I’d tell myself that if the stars could do it – if they could exist for billions of years in isolation – I could do it, too. I’d just pretend I was a star, that’s all. A ball of energy, burning up, light years from anyone and anything.”

“Una vez, en la noche medieval, el vampiro había sido muy poderoso, y enormemente temido. Se lo había considerado anatema, y todavía lo era. La sociedad lo perseguía sin descanso. ¿Pero son sus necesidades más sorprendentes que las necesidades de otros animales y hombres? Realmente, mira en tu alma, ¿es el vampiro tan malo? Sólo bebe sangre. ¿Porqué entonces ese juicio malévolo, esa condenación insensat? ¿Porqué el vampiro no podía elegir su vivienda? ¿Porqué debía ocultarse? ¿Porqué exterminarlos? Ah, ya ves, has convertido al desamparado inocente en un animal perseguido. El vampiro carece de medios de subsistencia, no puede educarse. Se le niega el derecho al voto. No es raro que deba arrastrar una existencia noctura y pedatoria. Neville dejó escapar un gruñido. Claro, claro, pero no permitiría que mi hermana se casase con uno.”

“Leave me,” he groaned in pain. “Run.”
His face paled, blood dribbling between his lips as he coughed. I’d seen death on people’s faces more times than I could count. Death had a way of revealing people’s true natures. Some people begged, some threatened, some tried to bargain. And this idiot I didn’t even know was dying and still trying to help me. I hated him for it. He started trying to talk again, grabbing at my hands. “Shut up, dumbass,” I hissed at him, pressing harder at his wound. He cried out in pain, but his cry cut off as the familiar warmth spread from my chest down my arms and into his stomach. The bullet had gone clean through his gut. Normally a death wound, but not tonight. I could feel his body mending beneath my fingers, all the muscles and organs knitting themselves back together. His hand curled over the top of one of mine, squeezing gently, and I glanced up to see his eyes full of awe. The wound closed shut, leaving what I knew would be a fresh pink scar, and all the warmth left me.”

“Wszystkie oczy były skierowane na żelazne drzwi na zasuwę. Teraz były otwarte, a w prześwicie stał wysoki człowiek, widząc którego Artem też zapomniał po co tu przyszedł. Stalker. Dokładnie tak ich sobie wyobrażał – z opowiadań ojczyma i historyjek straganiarzy. Poplamiony i miejscami osmalony skafander ochronny, długa ciężka kamizelka kuloodporna, potężne bary, na prawym ramieniu niedbale zarzucona potężna bryła erkaemu, z lewej, na podobieństwo bandoletu, zwisa pobłyskująca smarem taśma z nabojami. Masywne sznurowane buty, wpuszczone do środka spodnie, na plecach przepastny płócienny plecak. Stalker zdjął okrągły hełm specnazu, ściągnął gumową maskę przeciwgazową i, zaczerwieniony, mokry, rozmawiał o czymś z dowódcą posterunku. Był już niemłody, Artem widział siwy zarost na jego policzkach i brodzie i srebrne nitki wśród krótkich, czarnych włosów. Ale biło od niego siłą, pewnością siebie, cały był spięty, czujny, jakby nawet tu, na cichej, jasnej stacji był gotów w każdej chwili stawić czoła niebezpieczeństwu i nie dać mu się zaskoczyć.”

“In sickness… and in health… till death do we part…” Her eyes redden, brimming with tears. “You promised me, Jake. Twice. Long before this world fell apart. You swore you’d take care of me. Has that changed?”

“The City, Netherton had heard Lowbeer say, explaining the "klept" to Flynne, had long been, and well prior to the jackpot, a unique species of semi-autonomous crypto-state, the single least democratic element of elected British government. It was this singular status, according to Lowbeer, that had allowed it to ride out the eventual collapse of democracy. That, and its core expertise in laundering money, had brought it into a mutually beneficial synergy with the émigré oligarch community, dominated by Russians, who had themselves first been attracted to London by the City’s meta-criminal financial arcana, plus the lavish culture of personal amenities for those requiring same.”

“You’re going to castrate them if they give me a sideways glance?” He looked at the ground. “I’m not bringing you to the safest place and you’re beautiful, so I needed to warn them.” “I’m beautiful?” I repeated trying not to smile. “Don’t let it go to your head, darling.” He said holding his hand out for me. “You’re not too bad yourself.” “I know. I saw the way you stared at me when I took my shirt off.” Hunter said.”

“The little car was soon free of the city, for the smear of suburbia that had once lain along the western highways for miles was gone. During the Plague Years of the eighties, when in some areas not one person in twenty remained alive, the suburbs were not a good place to be. Miles from the supermart, no gas for the car, and all the split-level ranch homes around you full of the dead. No help, no food. Packs of huge status-symbol dogs—Afghans, Alsatians, Great Danes—running wild across the lawns ragged with burdock and plantain. Picture window cracked. Who’ll come and mend the broken glass? People had huddled back into the old core of the city; and once the suburbs had been looted, they burned. Like Moscow in 1812, acts of God or vandalism: they were no longer wanted, and they burned. Fireweed, from which bees make the finest honey of all, grew acre after acre over the sites of Kensington Homes West, Sylvan Oak Manor Estates, and Valley Vista Park.”

“But not everything is normal. After all, there's no indictation that religion exits here. Granted, I've only been at camp for a day, so maybe I just need to be patient. However, so far there have been no calls for prayer and no public sermons. I haven't seen anything that indicates which god — if any— these people believe in. The only signs of religion that I have seen are the few religious items that people wear on themselves. Other than that, it's as though God doesn't exist.”

“Patches don’t look it, but when attached to your soul they can get pretty heavy. They go over the holes in your soul, like when you patch a sock. When you have a hole in your soul, it’s because you’re hurting from something. I don’t know if you noticed, but that girl had a lot of holes.”

“The shadow self is what lies beneath the makeup. It’s those ugly parts that you haven’t accepted about yourself. You hide those parts in the shadows until you’re ready.” Her face remained a haunting calm. “When you realize the scars are who you are, that there was nothing wrong with you and that you were beautiful all along - that’s when you decide to take the makeup off.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you at all. Sometimes people say or do things that are mean because there's something the matter with them. With Lydia, it seems there’s always something wrong with her.”

“Because I am, just as you are you. We don’t always get to pick who we are, Shelly Wynn, but we can choose to celebrate it.”

“Soon, all the children were chanting it. “No school! No school!”

“Somehow her hula hoop had cut into the driver’s side door like the vehicle was made of cheese.”

“She could spin it between her legs, skip with it, twirl it around her neck and transfer it from one arm to the other. Shelly hooped because she enjoyed it; it calmed her whenever she would have an argument or a bad day at school, and it also allowed her to think. Today, she needed to hoop more than ever.”

“Shelly shook her head and made sure she had plenty of space so that she wouldn’t hit anything. As many times before, she kept the hoop close to her waist and then twirled it with small, tight bursts of speed. As the hoop gathered in momentum it started to give off a hum that soon took on a light blue illumination far brighter than the streetlamps. It was so bright, that it lit up the entire backyard.”

“I’m afraid they’re not coming.” Abby said fearfully. “Our parents, our teachers – everyone! They’ve disappeared. That’s it. Lights out, Shelly. We’re on our own.”

“Lydia displays her right hand and instantly bathed the room with a blinding light. It lasted only a moment before it drew back into her palm. “I can fix you if you’re ever broken.”

“It’s no big deal. It’s kind of like a tattoo. It won’t hurt, not too much, just a few stitches and it’ll be all over. It’s really interesting how it’s done. You won’t believe where your soul hides. Go on, take a guess. Where do you think it is?”

“Aloha Oukou. It looked like your soul was escaping so I put you in a tree.”

“Swords, Guns and AI Technology will take us far, far and farther, until it dumps us back where we came from, in the caves, but of concrete ruins. We will once again fight with spears and axes, made of broken bits of chips and circuit boards. Silicon, lithium, gold, all will be worthless, apes will barter again with sheep and boars. Yesterday's world was obsessed with swords, today's world is obsessed with guns, tomorrow's world will be obsessed with AI, and it always ends up with death and destruction. Day after tomorrow it'll be business as usual, savage world will be back obsessing with fire, then again with swords, then guns, and so on, till the sky pours ashes and seas boil over.”

“Miami is just really fun whenever I go there. It's like this post-apocalyptic Barbie world: everything is pink, and there're palm trees everywhere. But then there are also all these people in crazy sunglasses, warehouses with sick parties where all the girls are covered in spikes and black leather. It's a very weird place.”

“You turn on the shower or you do whatever, but especially right now with the drought in California, there are so many resources that we are depleting so quickly. And so, I thought it would be an interesting skill set to have if something were to go down, or even if it weren't. It's not post-apocalyptic idealism. It's more just like a fun hobby.”

“I think it worked two ways. One, a lot of people writing about the movie used that as shorthand and it could either be a good thing or they could use it to dismiss the movie like we were a copycat movie or something like that. It's very much its own story. It is a young woman in a post-apocalyptic society, but after that it's just a whole different kind of story and a different journey that she goes through.”

“What I find interesting and heartening, though, is that there does seem to be a shift in the subject matter being written about by women that is doing well in the culture. We're seeing more women writing dystopian fiction, more women writing novels set post-apocalyptic settings, subjects and themes that used to be dominated by men.”

“Dude. Post-apocalyptic world. Who does job applications anymore?” “I do.” I squint at it, then him. “What are you paying me?” I angle. “Dude. Post-apocalyptic world. Who does money anymore.” I snicker. First sign of any sense of humor he’s shown. Then I remember where I am and why. I wad it up and throw it at him. It bounces off his chest.”

“I feel like when we talk about post-apocalyptic themes that's what we're really talking about. We're always returning to this sense of being alone in a strange new place where all is bleak and all is lost. And it is this sense of isolation that permeates the whole album. I wanted to go into the balance between fear and transcendence.”

“I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”