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Wasteland Quotes

Browse 70 quotes about Wasteland.

Wasteland Quotes

“Silence. It flashed from the woodwork and the walls; it smote him with an awful, total power, as if generated by a vast mill. It rose from the floor, up out of the tattered gray wall-to-wall carpeting. It unleashed itself from the broken and semi-broken appliances in the kitchen, the dead machines which hadn’t worked in all the time Isidore had lived here. From the useless pole lamp in the living room it oozed out, meshing with the empty and wordless descent of itself from the fly-specked ceiling. It managed in fact to emerge from every object within his range of vision, as if it—the silence—meant to supplant all things tangible. Hence it assailed not only his ears but his eyes; as he stood by the inert TV set he experienced the silence as visible and, in its own way, alive. Alive! He had often felt its austere approach before; when it came it burst in without subtlety, evidently unable to wait. The silence of the world could not rein back its greed. Not any longer. Not when it had virtually won.”

SilencePowerCivilizationGreedWasteland
Book:Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
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“When faced with unbridled wildness of reality, dinosaurs fall into fevered delusions of grandeur. In fits of madness, they recreate the world in their own overblown image, bull-dozing the wild and replacing it with a wasteland that reflects their own emptiness. Where there was once the incredibly complex diversity of nature, there is now the dead simplicity of asphalt and concrete.”

RealityNatureMadnessEmptinessAnarchyConcreteAnarchismDinosaursWastelandDelusionsAsphaltCrimethincPoltics
Book:Anarchy in the Age of Dinosaurs
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“We are cotton buds sucking up the sadness of others, we are saturated, we are saviours. We absorb pain, too thick with mess to notice that everything around us is drying up and growing over. We will wake up one day in a wasteland, surrounded by the crumbling bones of those who loved us and waited for us to love them back. We did not forget but we were too busy being useful. We will crumble next to them but it will take forever, we will sit amongst the piles of dust alone.”

PainAloneMessWasteland
Book:Rest and Be Thankful
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“The wind blew steadily in from the desert seeping the sand in low, thin sheets. Afternoon waned, the sun sank, twilight crept over the barren waste. There were no sounds but the seep of sand, the moan of wind, the mourn of wolf. Loneliness came with the night that mantled Beauty Stanton’s grave. Shadows trooped in from the desert and the darkness grew black. On that slope the wind always blew, and always the sand seeped, dusting over everything, imperceptibly changing the surface of the earth. The desert was still at work. Nature was no respecter of graves. Life was nothing. Radiant, cold stars blinked pitilessly out of the vast blue-black vault of heaven. But there hovered a spirit beside this woman’s last resting-place — a spirit like the night, sad, lonely, silent, mystical, immense. And as it hovered over hers so it hovered over other nameless graves. In the eternal workshop of nature, the tenants of these unnamed and forgotten graves would mingle dust of good with dust of evil, and by the divinity of death resolve equally into the elements again.”

DeathSilenceProgressLonelinessForgottenWastelandAmerican WestNameless Graves
Book:The U. P. Trail
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“I watch down, what a bewildering and yet beautiful sprawling wasteland this place, expanding on fake islands, defying the laws of nature and dancing with a future devil, one that might just swallow all the islands whole!”

BeautifulFakeLaws Of NatureCasinosBewildermentWastelandMacauArtifical
Book:2017: Our Summer of Reunions: Braai Seasons with Howl Gang (Howl Gang Legend)
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“But then grey, watery light hit her. And the air- the air was heavy, full of slow-running water and mould and loamy earth. No wind moved around them; not even a breeze. Cassian whistled. 'Look at this hellhole.' Dropping Azriel's hand. Nesta did just that. Oorid stretched before them. She had never seen a place so dead. A place that made the still-human part of her recoil, whispering that it was wrong wrong wrong to be here. Azriel winced. The shadowsinger of the Night Court winced as the full brunt of Oorid's oppressive air and scent and stillness hit him. The three of them surveyed the wasteland. Even the Cauldron's water hadn't been so solidly black as the water here, as if it were made of ink. In the shallows mere feet away, where the water met the grass, not one blade was visible where the surface touched it. Dead trees, grey with age and weather, jutted like the broken lances of a thousand soldiers, some draped with curtains of moss. No leaves clung to their branches. Most of the branches had been cracked off, leaving jagged spears extending from the trunks. 'Not one insect,' Azriel observed. 'Not one bird.' Nesta strained to listen. Only silence answered. Empty of even a whistle of a breeze.”

Sarah J MaasCassianNesta ArcheronNestaA Court Of Silver FlamesAzrielWastelandWincingHellholeOorid
Book:A ​Court of Silver Flames
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“This was once Mazama, I kept reminding myself. This was once a mountain that stood nearly 12,000 feet tall and then had its heart removed. This was once a wasteland of lava and pumice and ash. This was once an empty bowl that took hundreds of years to fill. But hard as I tried, I couldn't see them in my mind's eye. Not the mountain or the wasteland or the empty bowl. They simply were not there anymore. There was only the stillness and the silence of that water: what a mountain and a wasteland and an empty bowl turned into after the healing process.”

WaterHealingSilenceMountainStillnessLakeWastelandHealing ProcessMazama
Book:Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail
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“One day it may feel as if energy and enthusiasm are quenched, feelings dried up and emotions scorched, love and affection tangled in a harsh and uninviting setting. Nothing seems to grow anymore. No seed. No flowers. No foreseeable hope. No conceivable prospects. Any blossom of expectation seems to have become an illusion and life appears to have come to a standstill. If no seed of loving care is sown in the untilled, abandoned land, no bud can come into flower. Singer Amy Winehouse felt like lying fallow in the ground of a wasteland "with tears dry, dying a hundred times, going back to black" and leaving eventually for a place of ultimate sorrow and heartbreak, for a point of no return. ( “Amour en friche” )”

LoveLifeFeelingsCareHopeTearsSorrowHeartbreakEmotionsIllusionAffectionExpectationWastelandFallowPoint Of No ReturnAmy Winehouse
Author:Erik Pevernagie
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“Even the wisest of mankind cannot live by reason alone; pure arrogant reason, denying the claims of prejudice (which commonly are also the claims of conscience), leads to a wasteland of withered hopes and crying loneliness, empty of God and man: the wilderness in which Satan tempted Christ was not more dreadful than the arid expanse of intellectual vanity deprived of tradition and intuition, where modern man is tempted by his own pride.”

MenReasonChristModernMankindLonelinessCryPridePureIntellectualConscienceTraditionEmptyClaimsPrejudiceIntuitionVanitySatanWildernessLive ByArrogantTemptedDeprivedWisestModern ManWitheredExpanseWasteland
Book:The Conservative Mind: From Burke to Eliot
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“Insofar as I think about postmodernism at all, and it doesn't exactly keep me awake at nights, I think of it as something that happens to one, not a style one affects. We're postmoderns because we're not modernists. The modernist writers—Pound, Eliot, Joyce, Stevens, Yeats, Woolf, Williams—spoke with a kind of vatic authority: they were really the last of the Romantics, for whom authorship itself was like being a solitary prophet in the wasteland.”

ThinkingKindHappensLastsNightStyleAuthorityAwakeProphetPoundsSpokesSolitaryPostmodernismAuthorshipJoycePostmodernEliotWastelandWoolfAwake At NightYeats
Author:Jonathan Raban
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“When television is good, nothing - not the theater, not the magazines or newspapers - nothing is better. But when television is bad, nothing is worse. I invite each of you to sit down in front of your television set when your station goes on the air and stay there for a day without a book, without a magazine, without a newspaper, without a profit and loss sheet or a rating book to distract you. Keep your eyes glued to that set until the station signs off. I can assure you that what you will observe is a vast wasteland.”

I CanBookEyeLossAirFrontsTelevisionGoes OnTheaterProfitNewspapersMagazinesStationsInvitesSheetsRatingWastelandProfit And LossSigning Off
Author:Newton N. Minow
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“What's really going on here is, this is a media shift. It's comparable to what happened in the 1950s and the birth of electronic mass media back then.This is the birth of a new kind of personal media, where, instead of we're all watching one program, we're all watching each other. And the history of media makes it really clear. Whenever we have a big innovation, the first wave of stuff we do is pretty crummy. The printing press gave us pornography, cheap thrillers, and how-to books. Television gave us Newt Minow's vast wasteland.”

FirstsKindBookBigsStuffClearHappenedMediaTelevisionBirthMassProgramInnovationPressesWavePornographyPrintingThrillersMass MediaPrinting PressNewtsWasteland
Author:Esther Dyson
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“Take cyberspace as an example. We had this wonderful utopian vision of a new home for the mind. What we've reaped isn't cyberspace. It's cyberbia. It's this vast, bland wasteland of vulgar people and trivial ideas and pictures of half-naked starlets. But despite all the uncertainty, has there ever been a more fascinating moment to be alive?”

PeopleMindIdeasMomentsHomeHalfVisionAliveWonderfulExampleNakedDespiteUncertaintyFascinatingVulgarUtopianBlandNew HomeCyberspaceWastelandStarlets
Author:Paul Saffo
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“The desert seems to be a brown wasteland of dry, prickly scrub whose only purpose is to serve as a setting for the majestic saguaros. Then, little by little, the plants of the desert begin to identify themselves: the porcupiny yucca, the beaver tail and prickly pear and barrel cacti, buckhorn and staghorn and devil's fingers, the tall, sky-reaching tendrils of the ocotillo.”

LittlesSeemsPurposeSkyDevilPlantFingersSettingSettingsDesertDryReachingBrownTallTailsBarrelsMajesticPearsBeaversCactusWasteland
Book:The Stargirl Collection
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“They say no land remains to be discovered, no continent is left unexplored. But the whole world is out there, waiting, just waiting for me. I want to do things-- I want to walk the rain-soaked streets of London, and drink mint tea in Casablanca. I want to wander the wastelands of the Gobi desert and see a yak. I think my life's ambition is to see a yak. I want to bargain for trinkets in an Arab market in some distant, dusty land. There's so much. But, most of all, I want to do things that will mean something.”

ThinkingWorldWantMeanWholeLeftWaitingWalksStreetsLandDrinkTravelAmbitionRainRemainsLondonWhole WorldWanderTeaDesertContinentsBargainsMintUnexploredWastelandTrinketsYaks
Author:Lisa Ann Sandell
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“The rules of the Hunger Games are simple. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy, called tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes will be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything from a burning desert to a frozen wasteland. Over a period of several weeks, the competitors must fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins.”

LastsGirlFightingGamesWinningSimpleBoysFourWeekPeriodsStandingTwentiesHungerPunishmentBurningDesertTwelveFrozenCompetitorsArenaTributeKindlesUprisingWastelandHunger Games BookDistrict 12Game Book
Book:The Hunger Games
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“One tragic example of the loss of forests and then water is found in Ethiopia. The amount of its forested land has decreased from 40 to 1 percent in the last four decades. Concurrently, the amount of rainfall has declined to the point where the country is rapidly becoming a wasteland.”

CountryLastsScienceFoundWaterLossEnvironmentFourLandExampleAmountBecomingPercentEnvironmentalDecadesForestsTragicEthiopiaWastelandRainfall
Book:Earth in the Balance: Forging a New Common Purpose
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