Best 97 quotes in «doom quotes» category

Our outworn economic system dooms millions to frustration.

I'm very lucky. I actually like screenwriting. I rarely feel a sense of doom going to my desk.

Our doom is, to be sifted by the wind, heaped up, smoothed down like silly sands. We are less permanent than thought.

Instead of taking environmentalism away from the left, conservatives condemn it as a counsel of doom.

In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.

I think that there is something in the human psyche, that when it approaches a big mark up point it tends to get doom laden.

It is the glorious doom of literature that the evil perishes and the good remains.

Perhaps that is our doom, our human curse, to never really know one another.

People talk about doom-laden scenarios happening in the future: they are happening in Africa now. You can see it perfectly clearly. Periodic famines are due to too many people living on land that can't sustain them.

Servile labour disappeared because it could not stand the competition of free labour; its un-profitability sealed its doom in the market economy.

Peter Pan, prepare to meet thy doom.

So consumed in all your doom, trying hard to fill the emptiness.

So, if anatomy is destiny then testosterone is doom.

That lack of programmability is probably what ultimately will doom vi. It can't extend its domain.

That which once united man Now drives him apart.We are not helpless Creatures crashing onwards irresistibly to doom. There is time for everything and time to choose For everything.We are that time, that choice. Everybody gets what he deserves.

The city guardsmen were like the keres, doom-bringers of merciless vengeance.

The grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead.

The imitator dooms himself to hopeless mediocrity.

The prophets of doom, in my experience, are generally ignored and usually right.

There is nothing rarer than a man who can be trusted never to throw away happiness, however eagerly he sometimes grasps it. In history we are as frequently interested in our own doom.

My doom and my strength is to be solitary.

The thegn who deems an unjust doom is to lose his thegnship. It is a principle which can be widely applied

Whate'er my doom; It cannot be unhappy: God hath given me The boon of resignation.

Bet vai tu zini par manu bērnību? Vai tu zini, cik man bija sliktas mājas un cik daudz ļauna es tur dabūju iemācīties? Šķiet, ka tas nāk līdzi mantojumā, no citiem augumiem, bet no kā? No pirmā auguma, tā bija rakstīts bērnu grāmatās, un liekas, ka piepildās... Tāpēc nevaino mani, tad es savukārt nevainošu savus vecākus, kuri varētu vainot savējos un tā joprojām!

This damned ranting about doom. Is that food for the minds of modern people? Do they really expect us to take them seriously?

You want me to be all doom and gloom, or just shut up?

Another flaw of the system is the fact that various danger fronts often require very different firmaments. As a logical superstructure is built upon each, there follow clashes of incommensurable modes of feeling and thought. Then despair can enter through the rifts. In such cases, a person may be obsessed with destructive joy, dislodging the whole artificial apparatus of his life and starting with rapturous horror to make a clean sweep of it. The horror stems from the loss of all sheltering values, the rapture from his by now ruthless identification and harmony with our nature’s deepest secret, the biological unsoundness, the enduring disposition for doom.

These are clearly the end times, and now we understand why the prophets warned us about the Trump of Doom.

All you can do is involve yourself totally in your own life, your own moment, Lonzi said. And when we feel pessimism crouching on our shoulders like a stinking vulture, he said, we banish it, we smother it with optimism. We want, and our want kills doom.

And each ripple builds and builds into the tidal wave of anarchy to which we are now doomed.

Glorious death is a transition into heavenly glories; “purposeless life” is the cause of shameful death and shameful death is a transition to eternal doom!

But does it make any sense at all to know that it ends badly for all of us, even the happiest of us, and that we all lose everything that matters in the end-and yet to know as well, despite all this, as cruelly as the game is stacked, that it's possible to play it with a kind of joy? To try to make some meaning out of all this seems unbelievably quaint. Maybe I only see a pattern because I've been staring too long. But then again, to paraphrase Boris, maybe I see a pattern because it's there.

But even as she spoke, a feeling of doom crept into her bones, joining the anger and dread already lurking there.

...but in the next moment I cursed myself for being so great a fool as to dream of hope at all.

But still, my heart beats. It dreams. It wonders. And most dangerous of all, it hopes, because despite its smallness, this hope is still a great something

First impression: The Tijuana dump is beautiful. Second impression: It is like a military operation. It is at the top of a small mountain. A convoy of trucks comes to the top of the mountain and dumps the refuse of a developing city. [...] Other equipment moves mountains of dirt to cover the wastes. At intervals, standpipes are inserted into the filled spaces to allow the biogas of the rotting materials below to escape. The wind blows across these vents, creating an eerie music. When the biogas envelops you, you sense that sinking feeling of doom.

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.

He sank back into his black-and-white world, his immobile world of inanimate drawings that had been granted the secret of motion, his death-world with its hidden gift of life. But that life was a deeply ambiguous life, a conjurer's trick, a crafty illusion based on an accidental property of the retina, which retained an image for a fraction of a second after the image was no longer present. On this frail fact was erected the entire structure of the cinema, that colossal confidence game. The animated cartoon was a far more honest expression of the cinematic illusion than the so-called realistic film, because the cartoon reveled in its own illusory nature, exulted in the impossible--indeed it claimed the impossible as its own, exalted it as its own highest end, found in impossibility, in the negation of the actual, its profoundest reason for being. The animated cartoon was nothing but the poetry of the impossible--therein lay its exhilaration and its secret melancholy. For this willful violation of the actual, while it was an intoxicating release from the constriction of things, was at the same time nothing but a delusion, an attempt to outwit mortality. As such it was doomed to failure. And yet it was desperately important to smash through the constriction of the actual, to unhinge the universe and let the impossible stream in, because otherwise--well, otherwise the world was nothing but an editorial cartoon.

He who mocked and laughed at correction should blame nobody for his shame and doom.

Hope is the great deceiver. Hope is the piper who leads us sleepy to our slaughter.

I am sorry to say that Manhattan is officially lost to us. We fear the connecting boroughs may be next. Pray for us.

God is our hope on the day of doom.

Ignorance and weakness is not an impediment to survival. Arrogance is.

I guess if there’s one thing I can say about the 21st century, it’s that the 21st century is all flash and no substance… everything is digital, nothing but files of invisible electronic data on computers and mindless zombies on their cellular phones… it’s sad how because of the digital age, society is ultimately doomed. Nothing in the digital age is real anymore, and you know, they say celluloid film and ray tube televisions and maybe even paper might become obsolete in this century? …What’s most annoying is that nobody cares, they’ve just learned to accept the digital age and get addicted to it… none of them are ever going to step up and say to the world, “you’re all a bunch of sheep!” and even if they did say anything, I doubt anyone would listen… they’re all too obsessed and attached to their cellular phones and overly big televisions and whatever other moronic things they’ve got these days… it almost makes me want an apocalypse to happen, to erase digital technology and force the world to start over again.

I love the thrill of impending, weightless doom...

Imagine if you will—and you will—a mushroom cloud bigger than anything that you currently see out that window. Imagine jet planes and bombers the size of apartment complexes dropping technological marvels of deconstruction upon this city, this world, all around the epicenter of a blooming death cloud. Imagine that mushroom coming to a head, knowing that it is filled with unimaginable heat and concrete, dust, papers—human faces, eyes, and brains. Gray matter filling the radioactive cloud with electricity as all that is inside us leaves us and becomes one with the mushroom. Glass will melt and connect with steel, and we will melt and connect with each other as everything that made us whole is criminally dissected and rearranged. Everything below us, from the sewer tunnels to the subway line, will be consumed into the cloud and jettisoned into the stratosphere, where it will become nothing but silken ash, hardened to a black substance, and turned back to a black dust, transfixed into a black nothing. A stinking, glowing crater all that remains of where you had your first kiss and told someone that you loved them. A mess of a world where everything you’ve ever done quickly becomes all that you’ll ever do.

Initially, the talk of misery spreads throughout the neighborhood, becoming in turn the rumor of ill-fortune and later the certainty of doom.

In that moment, hell may have ascended, Or heaven may have descended only to save me and prove, What I carry is an exaggerated memory of an imagined beautiful love. This love is tainted with treachery; it will be my doom.

It sounded somewhat doom-laden, so I felt obliged to look it up more thoroughly, in case I should eat some chocolate rather quickly.

O, great wise man,' she said, 'I have been wondering so many things. Is life more than sitting at home doing the same thing over and over? Wise man, is life more than watching one's relatives do unpleasant things, or more than grim tasks one must perform at school and at work? Is life more than being entertained by literature, wise man, or more than traveling from one place to another, suffering from poor emotional health and pondering the people one loves? And what about those who lead a life of mystery? And the mysteries of life? And, wise man, what about the overall feeling of doom that one cannot ever escape no matter what one does, and miscellaneous things that I have neglected to mention in specific?