Man was not a part of nature, he had raised himself above nature, and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to him impious, even though he didn't believe in God, the more it seemed to him anthropologically impious, to scatter the ashes of a human being on the fields, the rivers or the sea. A human being had a conscience, a unique, individual, and irreplaceable conscience, and thus deserved a monument, a stele, or at least an inscription—well, something that asserts and bears witness to his existence for future centuries.
—Michel Houellenbecq, The Map and the Territory
It was this unreality of character, this cartoonishness if you will, which was the secret of his appeal and what finally made his death so sad. Like any great comedian, he colored his environment wherever he went; in order to marvel at his constancy you wanted to see him in all sorts of alien situations: Bunny riding a camel, Bunny babysitting, Bunny in space. Now, in death, this constancy crystallized and became something else entirely: he was an old familiar jokester cast—with surprising effect—in the tragic role.
—Donna Tartt, The Secret History
The media themselves—which used to be organized vertically with print at the top, then film, television, radio, and comics in descending order—have been so shaken up that a Pulitzer Prize can go to a comic book about mice, whereas most of what is atop the New York Times best-seller list might be better used as bedding for mice.
—James B. Twitchell, Adcult: The Triumph of Advertising in American Culture
The statue, Zerchi was dismayed to notice, bore a marked similarity to some of the most effeminate images by which mediocre, or worse than mediocre, artists had traditionally misrepresented the personality of Christ. The sweet-sick face, blank eyes, simpering lips, and arms spread wide in a gesture of embrace. The hips were broad as a woman's, and the chest hinted at breasts—unless those were only folds in the cloak. Dear Lord of Golgotha, Abbot Zerchi breathed, is that all the rabble imagine You to be? He could with effort imagine the statue saying: "Suffer the little children to come unto me," but he could not imagine it saying: "Depart from me into everlasting fire, accursed ones," or flogging the money-changers out of the temple.
—Walter Miller, A Canticle for Leibowitz
An army is a body of pure consumers. As the army grew in size it threw a heavier and heavier burden upon productive enterprise: for the army must be fed and housed and equipped, and it does not, like other trades, supply any service in return except that of "protection" in times of war. In war, moreover, the army is not merely a pure consumer but a negative producer: that is to say, it produces illth instead of wealth—misery, mutilation, physical destruction, terror, starvation and death characterize the process of war and form a principal part of the product.
—Lewis Mumford, Technics and Civilization
[Plymouth Rock] has become an object of veneration in the United States. I have seen bits of it carefully preserved in several towns of the Union. Does not this sufficiently show how all human power and greatness are entirely in the soul? Here is a stone which the feet of a few poor fugitives pressed for an instant, and this stone becomes famous; it is treasured by a great nation, a fragment is prized as a relic. But what has become of the doorsteps of a thousand palaces? Who troubles himself about them?
—Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America