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Are we all just Dark Age doctors, swearing by our leeches? We crave a greater science. We want to be proven wrong.

Isaac Marion

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Isaac Marion
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: December 30
Music Journalist
Novelist
Writer
Seattle
Washington
Dark
Age
Wrong
Leeches
Science
Swearing
Crave
Proven
Doctors
Greater

More quotes by Isaac Marion

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It’s not about keeping up the population, it’s about passing on who we are and what we've learned, so things keep going. So we don’t just end.
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...wanting change is step one, but step two is taking it.
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It was fun, but it's over now. This is how things go.
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Warm Bodies ended up becoming one of the most personal relatable things I've written.
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Once you've arrived at the end of the world, it hardly matters which route you took.
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You might say that death has relaxed me.
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A month ago there was nothing on Earth I missed, enjoyed, or longed for. I knew I could lose everything and not feel anything, and I rested easy in that knowledge. But I'm growing tired of easy things.
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There’s not really such thing as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ people, there’s just like…humanity. And it gets broken sometimes.
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Every time I go to sleep, I know I may never wake up. How could anyone expect to? You drop your tiny, helpless mind into a bottomless well, crossing your fingers and hoping when you pull it out on its flimsy fishing wire it hasn't been gnawed to bones by nameless beasts below.
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But it does make me sad that we've forgotten our names. Out of everything, this seems to me the most tragic. I miss my own and I mourn for everyone else's, because I'd like to love them, but I don't know who they are.
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My favorite songs change every year.
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I want to change my punctuation. I long for exclamation marks, but I'm drowning in ellipses.
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How do I appear unthreatening when her lover's blood is running down my chin?
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Here it comes. My inevitable death, ignoring me all those years when I wished for it daily, arriving only after I've decided I want to live forever.
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That's why we have memory. And the opposite of memory— hope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can built off our pasts and make future.
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What happened to the world was gradual. I've forgotten what it actually was, but I have faint, fetal memories of what it was like. A smoldering dread that never really caught fire till there wasn't much left to burn. Each sequential step surprised us. Then one day we woke up, and everything was gone.
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I'm watching her talk. Watching her jaw move and collecting her words one by one as they spill from her lips. I don't deserve them. Her warm memories. I'd like to paint them over the bare plaster walls of my soul, but everything I paint seems to peel.
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I'm not a general or a colonel or a builder of cities. I'm just a corpse who wants not to be.
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I would like my life to be a movie so I could cut to a montage.
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It's a strange feeling, being so utterly surrounded by her. Her life scent is on everything. She's on me and under me and next to me. It's as if the entire room is made out of her.
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