Joshua Q.

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Rhythm of War
Joshua Q. is currently reading
by Brandon Sanderson (Goodreads Author)
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Robertson Davies
“What had Pledger-Brown said? "Too bad, Davey; he wanted blood and all we could offer was guts.”
Robertson Davies, The Manticore

Aldous Huxley
“He himself, Anthony went on to think, he himself had chosen to regard the whole process as either pointless or a practical joke. Yes, chosen. For it had been an act of the will. If it were all nonsense or a joke, then he was at liberty to read his books and exercise his talents for sarcastic comment; there was no reason why he shouldn't sleep with any presentable woman who was ready to sleep with him. If it weren't nonsense, if there was some significance, then he could no longer live irresponsibly. There were duties towards himself and others and the nature of things. Duties with whose fulfilment the sleeping and the indiscriminate reading and the habit of detached irony would interfere. He had chosen to think it nonsense, and nonsense for more than twenty years the thing had seemed to be – nonsense, in spite of occasional uncomfortable intimations that there might be a point, and that the point was precisely in what he had chosen to regard as the pointlessness, the practical joke.”
Aldous Huxley, Eyeless in Gaza

Aldous Huxley
“But if one doesn't really exist, one wonders why..." she hesitated.
"Why one makes such a fuss about things," Anthony suggested. "All that howling and hurrahing and gnashing of teeth. About the adventures of a self that isn't really a self—just the result of a lot of accidents. And of course," he went on, "once you start wondering, you see at once that there is no reason for making such a fuss. And then you don't make a fuss—that is, if you're sensible. Like me," he added, smiling.”
Aldous Huxley, Eyeless in Gaza

Henry Miller
“To be sick, to be neurotic, if you like, is to ask for guarantees. The neurotic is the flounder that lies on the bed of the river, securely settled in the mud, waiting to be speared. For him, death is the only certainty, and dread of that grim certainty immobilizes him in a living death far more horrible than the one he imagines but knows nothing about.”
Henry Miller, The Rosy Crucifixion: Sexus, Plexus, Nexus

Daniel Clowes
“Bring me your Nortons, your Kramdens, your housewives, and sewermen.
Weight my limbs with the nests of your flotsam, that we may chirp in chorus this melancholy anthem.
Mourn with your busdriver piety this sapless husk;
dull with your tender hymn the string of the lumberman's axe.”
Daniel Clowes

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