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c823a9c
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It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
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opening-lines
dystopia
first-sentence
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George Orwell |
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2244055
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Hate looks like everybody else until it smiles
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shatter-me
young-adult
hate
love
inspirational
dystopia
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Tahereh Mafi |
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e905e0d
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Every faction conditions its members to think and act a certain way. And most people do it. For most people, it's not hard to learn, to find a pattern of thought that works and stay that way. But our minds move in a dozen different directions. We can't be confined to one way of thinking, and that terrifies our leaders. It means we can't be controlled. And it means that no matter what they do, we will always cause trouble for them.
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dystopia
thinking
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Veronica Roth |
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7302a51
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It isn't just brave that she died for me; it is brave that she did it without announcing it, without hesitation, and without appearing to consider another option.
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divergent-insurgent
prior
tris
divergent-series
tris-prior
dystopia
dystopian
dystopian-fiction
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Veronica Roth |
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15f9743
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That was when they suspended the Constitution. They said it would be temporary. There wasn't even any rioting in the streets. People stayed home at night, watching television, looking for some direction. There wasn't even an enemy you could put your finger on.
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dystopia
enemy
government
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Margaret Atwood |
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b4f322b
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The point is, there is no feasible excuse for what are, for what we have made of ourselves. We have chosen to put profits before people, money before morality, dividends before decency, fanaticism before fairness, and our own trivial comforts before the unspeakable agonies of others
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morality
greed
indictment
nihilistic
dystopia
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Iain M. Banks |
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b26a83a
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Modesty is invisibility...Never forget it. To be seen--to be --is to be...penetrated. What you must be girls, is impenetrable.
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fear
dystopia
modesty
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Margaret Atwood |
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d708ea6
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In the year 2025, the best men don't run for president, they run for their lives. . . .
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man
life
richards
richard
ben
network
dystopia
stephen
survival
running
king
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Stephen King |
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58dfa2f
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To enslave an individual troubles your consciences, Archivist, but to enslave a clone is no more troubling than owning the latest six-wheeler ford, ethically. Because you cannot discern our differences, you assume we have none. But make no mistake: even same-stem fabricants cultured in the same wombtank are as singular as snowflakes.
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slavery
dystopia
science-fiction
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David Mitchell |
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0c92303
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...Coca-Cola and fries, the wafer and wine of the Western religion of commerce.
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future
dystopia
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Tad Williams |
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8661f5e
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I guess that's how they were able to do it, in the way they did it, all at once, without anyone knowing beforehand. If there had still been portable money, it would have been more difficult. It was after the catastrophe, when they shot the president and machine-gunned the Congress and the army declared a state of emergency. They blamed it on the Islamic fanatics at the time. I was stunned. Everyone was, I know that. It was hard to believe, the entire government gone like that. How did they get in, how did it happen? That was when they suspended the Constitution. They said it would be temporary. There wasn't even any rioting in the streets. People stayed home at night, watching television, looking for some direction. There wasn't even an enemy you could put your finger on.
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disenfranchisement
coup-d-état
dystopia
womens-rights
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Margaret Atwood |
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cea4564
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We may call Eurydice forth from the world of the dead, but we cannot make her answer; and when we turn to look at her we glimpse her only for a moment, before she slips from our grasp and flees. As all historians know, the past is a great darkness, and filled with echoes. Voices may reach us from it; but what they say to us is imbued with the obscurity of the matrix out of which they come; and, try as we may, we cannot always decipher them precisely in the clearer light of our own day.
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time
light
past
wisdom
eurydice
day
matrix
dystopia
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Margaret Atwood |
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85d58db
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Maybe it's ALWAYS the end of the world. Maybe you're alive for a while, and then you realize you're going to die, and that's such an insane thing to comprehend, you look around for answers and the only answer is that the world must die with you. Sure, the world seems crazy now. But wouldn't it seem just as crazy if you were alive when they sacrificed peasants, when people were born into slavery, when they killed first-born sons, crucified priests, fed people to lions, burned them on stakes, when they intentionally gave people smallpox or syphilis, when they gassed them, burned them, dropped atomic bombs on them, when entire races tried to wipe other races off the planet? Yes, we've ruined the planet and melted the ice caps and depleted the ozone, and we're always finding new ways to kill one another. Yeah, we're getting cancer at an alarming rate and suicides are at an all-time high, and, sure, we've got people so depressed they take a drug that could turn them into pasty-skinned animals who go around all night dancing and having sex and eating stray cats and small dogs and squirrels and mice and very, very rarely- the statistics say you're more likely to be killed by lightning- a person. But this is the Apocalypse? Fuck you! It's always the Apocalypse. The world hasn't gone to shit. The world is shit. All I'd asked was that it be better managed.
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end-of-the-world
dystopia
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Jess Walter |
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8b66508
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So, in the end, above ground you must have the Haves, pursuing pleasure and comfort and beauty, and below ground the Have-nots, the Workers getting continually adapted to the conditions of their labour. Once they were there, they would no doubt have to pay rent, and not a little of it, for the ventilation of their caverns; and if they refused, they would starve or be suffocated for arrears. Such of them as were so constituted as to be miserable and rebellious would die; and, in the end, the balance being permanent, the survivors would become as well adapted to the conditions of underground life, and as happy in their way, as the Upper-world people were to theirs.
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prophesy
dystopia
science-fiction
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H.G. Wells |
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431d394
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Two-thirty comes during Testifying. It's Janine, telling about how she was gang-raped at fourteen and had an abortion.But whose fault was it? Aunt Helena says, holding up one plump finger. Her fault, her fault, her fault. We chant in unison. Who led them on? She did. She did. She did. Why did God allow such a terrible thing to happen? Teach her a lesson. Teach her a lesson. Teach her a lesson.
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rape
god
abortion-quotes
victim-blaming
dystopia
womens-rights
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Margaret Atwood |
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1170823
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And of course she had studied the civilization that had immediately preceded her own - the civilization that had mistaken the functions of the system, and had used it for bringing people to things, instead of for bringing things to people. Those funny old days, when men went for change of air instead of changing the air in their rooms!
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dystopia
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E.M. Forster |
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01b8a97
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"Their conversation ceased abruptly with the entry of an oddly-shaped man whose body resembled a certain vegetable. He was a thickset fellow with calloused and jaundiced skin and a patch of brown hair, a frizzy upheaval. We will call him Bell Pepper. Bell Pepper sidled up beside The Drippy Man and looked at the grilled cheese in his hand. The Drippy Man, a bit uncomfortable at the heaviness of the gaze, politely apologized and asked Bell Pepper if he would like one. "Why is one of your legs fatter than the other?" asked Bell Pepper. The Drippy Man realized Bell Pepper was not looking at his sandwich but towards the inconsistency of his leg sizes. "You always get your kicks pointing out defects?" retorted The Drippy Man. "Just curious. Never seen anything like it before." "I was raised not to feel shame and hide my legs in baggy pants." "So you flaunt your deformity by wearing short shorts?" "Like you flaunt your pockmarks by not wearing a mask?" Bell Pepper backed away, kicking wide the screen door, making an exit to a porch over hanging a dune of sand that curved into a jagged upward jab of rock. "He is quite sensitive," commented The Dry Advisor. "Who is he?" "A fellow who once manipulated the money in your wallet but now curses the fellow who does."
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writing
future
politics
books
dubai
economic-collapse
small-press
spy-thriller
espionage
end-of-the-world
conspiracy
dystopia
authors
economics
satire
maine
dystopian-fiction
writers
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Jeff Phillips |
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af1eecc
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Ask no guarantees, ask for no security, there never was such an animal.And if there were, it would be related to the great sloth which hangs upside down in a tree all day, every day, sleeping its life away.
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change
dystopia
realization
world-view
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Ray Bradbury |
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1014868
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Why does any martyr cooperate with his judases? We see a game beyond the endgame... As Seneca warned Nero: No matter how many of us you kill, you will never kill your successor.
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conspiracy
dystopia
martyr
purpose
revolution
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David Mitchell |
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1be380d
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Yesterday, here in the middle of the City, I saw a wolf turn into a Russian ex-gymnast and hand over a business card that read YOUR OWN PERSONAL TRANSHUMAN SECURITY WHORE! STERILIZED INNARDS! ACCEPTS ALL CREDIT CARDS to a large man who had trained attack cancers on his face and possessed seventy-five indentured Komodo Dragons instead of legs. And they had sex. Right in front of me. And six of the Komodo Dragons spat napalm on my new shoes.
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sex
future
dystopia
cyberpunk
science-fiction
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Warren Ellis |
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03150a3
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But what's the point of freedom? Do you think you can change anything?' 'Of course not. We are waiting.' 'For what?' 'Until the world changes on it's own. That is the one truth of history. Everything ends. Civilisations, empires, however powerful and strong. They all end, sooner or later. When it does, we will be there, with all the old ideas and thoughts, preserved and ready to blossom.
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history
end-of-civilization
preservation-of-knowledge
dystopia
civilization
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Iain Pears |
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efb4de1
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Twenty years earlier, in a life [Kirsten] mostly couldn't remember, she had had a small nonspeaking role in a short-lived Toronto production of King Lear. Now she walked in sandals whose soles had been cut from an automobile tire, three knives in her belt.
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shakespeare
life
post-apocalyptic
dystopia
art
play
drama
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Emily St. John Mandel |