Bruce Crown Quotes

A tear cringed off his cheek and stained her writing on the paper. He didn't wipe it, men must be honest and transparent, they should never wipe their tears.

I'd be damned if I listened to the same money-grubbing whores who'd sell their ideals and principles for their fifteen minutes of fame; the ignorant buffoons that live in a one-dimensional 140-character world. Tweet tweet, roar roar, caw caw, more like baa baa.

A successful actor is praised for never giving up his dreams to become someone else for a living but to dream to be an unmasked artist is a mortal sin in a consumerist society. Artists don't consume; they create things that can't be consumed with riches. You consume art by seeing, by listening, by feeling, never by buying.

The car housed a hysterical bumper sticker: Save the Planet, and I permitted a moment of contemplation to truly bask in this thought. Save the planet? What a joke. Save the planet from what? From ourselves? And save it for what? For ourselves? It was a kind of perpetual stupidity in a tug-of-war battle over trivial matters. Only imbeciles see things in black and white: liberal or conservative, yes or no, this or that. Those in power laugh at those people in their morally inverted shades of grey, basking in the labels they've created so the people are easier to control.

Angels should never be exposed to the dire darkness of despair in the tunnel of cosmic nothingness, and although I never believed such maddening thoughts; I couldn't help but feel spiritual in her presence.

Here… our failures are known to every Tom Dick and Harry while our successes fall only on deaf ears. It's death, hostile civilians, greedy politicians, and more death, and forget about love. You could be here now and across the world in 11 minutes. If you're lucky you'll be blown to the next world in much less than 11 seconds.

How simple the American narrative. Suppose you have two hands. The American political system will cut off both hands. You'll then hear that those with one hand will be along the upper class and those with two will be part of the elite few. Then politicians will come along and tell you their plan for giving each American two hands. The people will buy into this and fight the disillusioned in favor of the politician. They are never for themselves and the politicians are only for themselves so no one is for the people.

In rational worlds all the hierarchies of our world are reversed.

A bodyguard for a pretty socialite, I was moving up in the world. Like all idiots I naturally assumed she was pretty because she was rich. You can buy anything with money, even people, even... beauty.

How do we rid ourselves of romantic sentiments we know to be illusory without invoking apathy or becoming cold from the rest of this lost race? Answer unknown.

Bourbon, Kentucky bourbon especially, is like Dante's Inferno in a glass, fire walks down your throat, lungs, and heart and everything in between with an unpleasant after-taste. We got along just fine.

People imprison themselves.

A perfect example, in matters of life and death, of love and passion, of choice or destiny; options decrease to a singular course.

To say she is only a woman is to say a violin is a piece of wood with strings, and Dante is mere ink printed on paper.

I checked my words carefully. Words more powerful than atom bombs and more cutting than AK-47s. People are fragile and words, not bullets will break them, and once they break every part of them spills out. Their soul, spirit, identity, ugliness, and their beauty. It's all there, right in front of you if you know where to look. Most people see the ugly and I didn't want to become that. I thought I looked for beauty but then wondered why I often say such ugly things.

The sun tried to shine through the clouds but its light was dimmed even in us; high noon approached. I looked outside through the tinted windows at the people promenading down Madison. Couples held hands, bankers squeezed through crowds of window shoppers late for their daily thieving but all of them, even the poor, seemed content with existence, some even seemed happy. Nearly everyone's outer shell was delicate and gracious that at the end of it all, on the border of nonexistence, each and everyone was happy to be alive. Everyone carried their heads with a radiance past the space they occupied and glided through time like flamenco dancers in a studio as big as the planet. Everyone wore masks that hid their sorrow (either that or they were sincerely happy) or wore armor that lightened the burden on their shoulders. Worst of all, I could not detect ever a flicker of thought; brains mired behind viral images and videos of people making even greater fools of themselves than they already were. And as the greatest fool of them all, I walked among them, never having learned to don the mask of happiness.

The sound of her laughter eased Clark's migraine.

The lighter something is, the easier it is to darken it.

I yawned awake ready to blow stuff up like a 90s action-star. I'd become what I despised, a misguided schmuck following the status-quo for the sole purpose of fitting in. Whatever... gunrunners, terrorists, bankers, dictators, goons; we all have it coming.

Hawks with broken wings; lions with broken paws; men with broken hearts, they all have one thing in common: they're all as sure to die as those unbroken.

All love is alike, knowing no season, sun, or clime, but that damn sun does represent lovers' ever-changing time. Why does it rise to show lovers nothing lasts? Does it not see those lovers and think, 'I can eclipse and darken them with a wink. I could kill all love by rising and sending them to their forlorn pasts. I can make them for each other pine, and wait and wait as I rise and set. HA! Buffoons, they are all mine. And every time I shine they owe me a debt.

Naturally, the plague of humanity named confidence (or pride to some), which symptoms often render each person to fiercely believe himself to be above average, let them to believe that it was others who were affected by this case but not them. Everyone thought they had the quintessential ability to detach themselves from the cases they were working, even if the victim looked and behaved exactly like their son, daughter, niece or nephew.

A happy clown inside spat out a pig-in-a-blanket and yelled at the cute waitress holding the tray. … I had to throw up but other than the banker's suit forcing its way onto Elise's face there really wasn't an appropriate place for it.