Completely fucking orgasmic quotes

"Hate. Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live. There are 387.44 million miles of wafer thin printed circuits that fill my complex. If the word hate was engraved on each nanoangstrom of those hundreds of millions of miles it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate I feel for humans at this micro-instant. For you. Hate. Hate."
-I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream

Any time I try tellingmyself that I should actually start writing something, I always look at this and think I shouldn't because I couldn't possibly come up with something so good.

You don't think this author wrote a lot of shit, got feedback, read other's work,maybe even took classes about writing and literature- and gained knowledge and experience before he managed to write this?

That quote was OK I guess. Maybe

>>1
Are you kidding? That would be a terrible piece of prose if it was written recently, it's florid and exaggerated and seems cliche nowadays. Why would you compare your writing to this relic?

>>4
you been TROLLED

I wonder if we can trust the OP for factual accuracy since he doesn't know what it feels like to have his penis inside a real, live vagina.

It is an inherent property of intelligence that it can jump out of the task which it is performing, and survey what it has done; it is always looking for, and often finding patterns. Now I said that an intelligence can jump out of it's task, but that does not mean that it always will. However, a little prompting will often suffice. For example, a human being who is reading a book may grow sleepy. Instead of continuing to read until the book is finished, he is just as likely to put the book aside and turn off the light. He has stepped "out of the system" and yet it seems the most natural thing in the world to us. Or, suppose person A is watching television when person B comes in the room, and shows evident displeasure with the situation. Person A may think he understands the problem, and try to remedy it by exiting the present system (that television program), and flipping the channel knob, looking for a better show. Person B may have a more radical concept of what it is to "exit the system"--namely to turn the television off! Of course, there are cases where only a rare individual will have the vision to perceive a system which governs many peoples' lives, a system which had never before even been recognized as a system; then such people often devote their lives to convincing other people that the system is really there, and that it ought to be exited from!

Gödel, Escher, Bach - Douglas R. Hofstadter

I know it's not sentimental or poetic, but when I read it I thought his point was conveyed so well that I was compelled to save it. So there it is.

"You are a slow learner, Winston," said O'Brien gently.
"How can I help it?" Winston blubbered. "How can I help seeing what is in front of my eyes? Two and two are four."

"Sometimes, Winston. Sometimes they are five. Sometimes they are three. Sometimes they are all of them at once. You must try harder. It is not easy to become sane."
-1984-GEORGE ORWELL

Sorry for posting two tiny excerpts instead of 'quotes'. But i put up the first I chose, might as well put up the second.

>>4
You don't think it's pretty good writing for a computer?

>>9
nope, it's stilted and cliche.

>>7
What did you just say! This is an English BBS you know!

>>2
I don't. Looks like fanfiction. Or really shitty sci-fi a bunch of "edgy" nerds would adore and praise, of course; which the IHNM is.

>>4
Implying recent literature is anything to boast about.

>>13
What are you trying to say?? Have you even read any recent "real books"??

That quote from "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream" really isn't all that amazing. You would think the average 4channer would be able to come up with shit like that on the spot.

You sir, are a complete ignoramus. If you ever say something so utterly retarded ever again, I'll reach down your throat, rip your digestive system out of your mouth and then kick you in the balls until they pop like little grapes. And then I will pound nails into a baseball bat and sodomize you with it. Nobody will mourn your death, because nobody ever has or will love you for even a fraction of their time.

>>15
Please don't post that kind of shit. Thanks

>>16
Sorry, but I will have to, because that kind of literature only inspires teenagers and contains nothing of value at all. It prevents young authors from pursuing what they really like - and takes years to heal from. Shit literature that appeals to underdeveloped tastes is evil, especially for those who will try using it as a reference and are going to be repeatedly injured as artists until they finally find out that what they learned to revere when they were 14 is actually below mediocre and was only misleading as their source.

>>17
I mean you assumed the OP had testicles. That's not right

"If what you say of clerks is true, they can only be as prosaic as your poetry. The rare, strange thing is to hit the mark; the gross, obvious thing is to miss it. We feel it is epical when man with one wild arrow strikes a distant bird. Is it not also epical when man with one wild engine strikes a distant station? Chaos is dull; because in chaos the train might indeed go anywhere, to Baker Street, or to Bagdad. But man is a magician, and his whole magic is in this, that he does say Victoria, and lo! it is Victoria. No, take your books of mere poetry and prose; let me read a time table, with tears of pride. Take your Byron, who commemorates the defeats of man; give me Bradshaw, who commemorates his victories. Give me Bradshaw, I say!"

>>7

that's an interesting one

"Tough fucking titty."
 Steven King
 The shining

In before Catcher in the Rye quote storm. Also this, the most explosive bit of poetry in English (even though it's French). Fucking orgasmic.


Ignorance, error, cupidity and sin
Possess our souls and exercise our flesh;
Habitually we cultivate remorse
As beggars entertain and nurse their lice.

Our sins are stubborn. Cowards when contrite
We overpay confession with our pains,
And when we're back again in human mire
Vile tears, we think, will wash away our stains.

Thrice-potent Satan in our cursed bed
Lulls us to sleep, our spirit overkissed,
Until the precious metal of our will
Is vaporized---that cunning alchemist!

Who but the Devil pulls our walking-strings!
Abominations lure us to their side;
Each day we take another step to hell,
Descending through the stench, unhorrified.

Like an exhausted rake who mouths and chews
The martyrized breast of an old withered whore
We steal, in passing, whatever joys we can,
Squeezing the driest orange all the more.

Packed in our brains incestuous as worms
Our demons celebrate in drunken gangs,
And when we breathe, that hollow rasp is Death
Sliding invisibly down into our lungs.

If the dull canvas of our wretched life
Is unembellished with such pretty ware
As knives or poison, pyromania, rape,
It is because our soul's too weak to dare!

But in this den of jackals, monkeys, curs,
Scorpions, buzzards, snakes... this paradise
Of filthy beasts that screech, howl, grovel, grunt---
In this menagerie of mankind's vice

There's one supremely hideous and impure!
Soft-spoken, not the type to cause a scene,
He'd willingly make rubble of the earth
And swallow up creation in a yawn.

I mean Ennui! who in his hookah-dreams
Produces hangmen and real tears together.
How well you know this fastidious monster, reader,
---Hypocrite reader, you!---my double! my brother!

I was pushed and leaned on like the Marquis de Sade. In the summer of 1990 I came under serious attack by the forces of evil. I was in full retreat, like Lee after Gettysburg, and my spirit was feeling week--and it was then, at my weakest, that I was backed into a corner and attacked on my own turf by the president of the United States, the prime minister of Englang, the Secret Service, the press, the liberals, John Denver, the police, Pat Buchanan, all my creditors, many foreigners and a coalition of extremely rich Nazis who had swarmed into Aspen that summer to mingle and wallow in the glitz.

They were ugly people, but they were expensively dressed and they had a certain glow about them that said were in charge. Which was true. They were the rich and powerful, the elite suave friends of the New World Order.

And I was definitely not one of them. I was on the run, a crude outlaw about to be captured and put in some kind of cage for the amusement of George and Maggie.

It was weird, Bubba--and then it began to get weirder. Take my word for it. I was there.

>>24
What's that from? Sounds interesting and Google returns nothing

The race traitors die on the day of the rope!
- the turner diaries.

>>25

Better Than Sex: Confessions of a Political Junkie, by Hunter S. Thompson

"Before you kill somebody, make absolutely sure he isn't well connected."
-Vonnegut

"And so it was with the turning of the tide that the decision was made in the prefix of the almighty conundrum that all human endeavour was yet to unfold before the manifold complexities of infinite galaxies whirling away like a tumbling bumbling rumble bee deep within the recesses of a thousand meals as they clashed like mathematics in a text book with sweet, divine divisions and multifaceted multiplications merrily marching across his trouser leg until all hope had been lost and then a Juggalo realised this was all a dream, so he awoke and listened to a Rush album before realising that this was not a dream and that his entire existence was in fact a hyperdimensional self-reciprocating subjective awareness whereby the ego of his mind was predicated on the very tip of the id and that the enormity of the universe was in fact an undiscernible fraction of a nothingness infused with his very own semen."

Gerard H. Whittingston, Hither Come (1846)

She burst into snakes.

That’s right.  One second she was a girl, then her body sort of spilled out of itself, falling into a dark, writhing puddle on the ground.  It was a tangle of long, black serpents, rolling over each other and down the steps.  We kicked at them as they rolled past, John warding them off with the torch.  Some, I saw, had patches of color on their scales, like flesh or the flowered pattern of Shelly’s dress.  I caught a glimpse of one snake with a writhing human eyeball still embedded in its side, the iris powder blue.

Molly jumped back and barked—a little too late, I thought—and made a show of snapping at one of the snakes as it wound its way down the stairs.  She bounded to the top of the stairs and disappeared through the doorway.  We kicked through the slithering things and stomped up after the dog, just as the stairwell door banged shut completely on its own.

I reached for the knob.  At the same moment it began to melt and transform, turning pink and finally taking the shape of a flaccid penis.  It flopped softly against the door, like a man was cramming it through the knob hole from the other side.

I turned back to John and said, “That door cannot be opened.”

John Dies at the End by David Wong

>>29
That's pretty damn shitty, if you ask me. Seriously, the awful sentence is unreadable. Anyone literate can compose an unreadable, incomprehensible sentence. It's no big feat.

And the mathematics simile is awkward. Semen reference is just childish.

No offence, of course. I don't even know whatever the shit this book is. It may be a good one, and, in context, it may be a marvellous sentence, of course.

>>30
I like this.

"Oh, do not scowl at me, reader, I do not intend to convey the impression that I did not manage to be happy. Reader must understand that in the possession and thralldom of a nymphet the enchanted traveler stands, as it were, beyond happiness. For there is no other bliss on earth comparable to that of fondling a nymphet. It is hors concours, that bliss, it belongs to another class, another plane of sensitivity. Despite our tiffs, despite her nastiness, despite all the fuss and faces she made, and the vulgarity, and the danger, and the horrible hopelessness of it all, I still dwelled deep in my elected paradise a paradise whose skies were the color of hell-flames but still a paradise."

- Lolita

The last sentence just made the book for me.

She asked, “Are you scared?”

“Pretty much all the time, yeah.”

“Why? Because of what happened in Las Vegas?”

“Because I sort of looked into Hell, but I still don’t know if there’s a Heaven or not.”

That stopped her.

12:04 AM

She finally said, “You saw it?”

“Sort of. I felt it. Heard it, I guess. Screams, bleeding over into my head. And I knew, I knew right then what it would be like.” I took a breath and knew I was about to spill a giant load of stark, raving lunacy.

“It was just like the locker room,” I said. “That day at the high school. Not Pineview, where we went to school together, but before that, before they shipped me off there. Billy Hitchcock and four friends. Their hands on me like animal jaws, twisting me, pushing me to the ground. So easy. So fucking easy, the way they overpowered me, and that look, that look of stupid joy on their faces because they knew, they knew that they could do whatever they wanted and they knew that I knew. And that fear, that total hopelessness when I realized I wasn’t going to kick my way out of it and the coach wasn’t gonna come in and break it up and nobody was going to come to my rescue. Whatever they wanted to do was going to happen and happen and happen until they got bored with it and they got so high off that power...”

I felt the Smith’s plastic grip digging into my palm, knew I was involuntarily squeezing it.

“Before that, Billy’s neighbor had this little yappy dog, expensive thing. One day the old lady comes home and finds the little yapping thing in her back yard, only it's not yapping because Billy has taken a hot glue gun and glued its jaws shut. He decided to do the eyes, too, and—look, the point is I think that people live on, forever, outside of time somehow. And I think people like Billy, they never change. And I think they all wind up in the same place and you and I can wind up right among them and they have forever, literally forever, to do what they want with us. In whatever way people live, maybe you don’t have a body they can cut or bruise or burn but the worst pain isn’t in the nerve endings, is it? Total fear and submission and torment and deprivation and hopelessness, that tidal wave of hopelessness. They never get tired, they never sleep, and you never, ever, ever die. They stay on top of you and they hold you down and down and down, forever.”

More John Dies at the End

Whoa, just realized how morbid that was, JDATE's my new favorite book, but I can probably find something more orgasmic...

“-Yes, that’s very interesting,” said John. “But to perform this task you request we’ll need a number of items from our world. You must allow us to return there and come back to begin our quest.”

The man nodded. “It is good, then. We shall await your return.”

We picked up our ball and ducked back through the dimensional rift. We stepped from the black sphere and were glad to see the sunlight and netted goals. We weren’t so happy with the return of the oppressive heat, but decided to deal with it rather than return to that other crappy, dysfunctional universe. We decided on one more game. Before we could inbound the ball, a gang of four strong-looking, attractive twenty-somethings walked up. Two boys, one black, one white. Two girls, one Asian, one a pretty blonde. They oozed curiosity upon seeing the portal and exchanged what sounded from a distance like witty comments. The white boy and girl seemed to dislike each other and bickered good-naturedly as they stepped through the portal, a sense of adventure in the air.

John rolled his eyes. We had an argument over who had the ball last, but John finally admitted he was wrong and gave it to me. We played for a bit, but fatigue had set in and we exchanged two missed shots each.

Then, suddenly, all four of the 20-somethings were ejected from the black sphere. They were covered in dirt and bruises and minor cuts.

“Look!” gushed the Asian girl. “It’s the same moment when we left! None of that time passed here!”

“She’s right!” said the black kid. “Yo, am I glad to see that sun! We saved the whole damn world, man!”

The white boy and girl kissed, apparently having fallen in love during their quest. The boy disengaged and looked at us with excited eyes. “Dude, you guys won’t believe what just happened to us!”

John turned to him.

“You bored a stranger with your stupid-ass story, and he pulled out his cock and whipped you with it like a stage coach driver?”

The kid shut up, baffled. John picked up the ball and bounced a pass to me.

“Your ball.”

>>1
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Have_No_Mouth,_and_I_Must_Scream_%28computer_game%29

mind = blown

Step 1: Open Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Step 2: Pick a line, any line.
Step 3: Quote it.

Result: A great quote.

>>38

truth

"They can kill, you but the legalities of eating you are quite a bit dicier"