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I was a slave to something he believed to be silly and superstitious: the idea that all life was worth defending and that nothing justified surrender to the forces of destruction.

Rick Yancey

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Rick Yancey
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: November 4
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Writer
Miami
Florida
Richard Yancey
William James Henry
Will Henry
Force
Surrender
Ideas
Believed
Nothing
Silly
Something
Forces
Life
Slave
Destruction
Superstitious
Worth
Defending
Idea
Justified

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I didn't show up here to give your life purpose now that your life's over. That's up to you to figure out.
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It was the price of survival. The cost of his people's last, desperate gamble: To rid his new home of humanity, he had to become human. And being human, he had to overcome his humanity.
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Yes, my dear child, monsters are real. I happen to have one hanging in my basement.
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If the world breaks a million and one promises, can you trust the million and second?
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The doctor frowned upon drinking and often expressed wonderment at men who willingly made imbeciles of themselves.
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Climb onto my shoulders. I will not let you fall.
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Cruelty isn't a personality trait. Cruelty is a habit.
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We'd stared into the face of Death, and Death blinked first. You'd think that would make us feel brave and invincible. It didn't.
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Dr. Warthrop chopped off my finger with a butcher knife.
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There are things that are too terrible to remember, and there are things that are almost too wonderful to recall.
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What boy my age didn’t dream of fleeing the well-tended lawn and lamp-lit street for the untamed wilderness, where grand adventure awaited on the other side of the horizon, where the stars burned undimmed in the velvet sky above his head and the virgin ground lay untrodden beneath his feet?
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There are those who labor in the darkness, that the rest of us might live in the light.
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Still, you tend to believe what you always believed, think what you always thought, expect what you always expected
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His heart, the war. Her face, the battlefield.
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He asks me what happened to my leg. I told him I was shot by a shark. He doesn't react. Doesn't seem confused or amused or anything. Like getting shot by a shark is a perfectly natural thing in the aftermath of the arrival.
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The kid who didn't go back when he should have and now goes back when he shouldn't. The kid called Zombie, who made a promise, and if he breaks that promise, the war is over - not the big war, but the war that matters, the one in the battlefield of his heart. Because promises matter. They matter now more than ever.
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There's the bullshit you know that you know the bullshit you don't know and know you don't know and the bullshit you just think you know but really don't.
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I will teach you to love death. I will empty you of grief and guilt and self-pity and fill you up with hate and cunning and the spirit of vengeance. I will make my final stand here, Benjamin Thomas Parish.
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Maybe you reach a certain point in evolution where boredom is the greatest threat to your survival. Maybe this isn't a planetary takeover at all, but a game. Like a kid pulling wings off flies.
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You are the nest. You are the hatchling. You are the chrysalis. You are the progeny. You are the rot that falls from stars. You may not understand what I mean. You will.
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