Post Apocalyptic Quotes

“Don’t do anything harsh, Arrov,” I say. “You’ll kill him!”
Callum smirks. “No, he won’t.”
“Yes, he will,” Teague says.”
― S.G. Blaise, True Teryn

“He stood there for a moment looking around the silent room, shaking his head slowly. All these books, he thought, the residue of a planet's intellect, the scrapings of futile minds, the leftovers, the potpourri of artifacts that had no power to save men from perishing.”
― Richard Matheson, I Am Legend

“You bastard, he thought, almost affectionately, watching the minuscule protoplasm fluttering on the slide. You dirty little bastard.”
― Richard Matheson, I Am Legend and Other Stories

“She sticks to the rules, because it's all she's got. It's like her feelings dried up and they were replaced with a pile of useless laws. Like my appendix. Don't know what I need it for, but it's still there.”
― Monica Valentinelli, The Zombie Feed, Vol. 1

“There was some comfort in knowing that, although the world was being torn in two, there were still remarkable things that went on being, that refused to lose their shine. Some days it was only the wonder that kept us going.”
― Silas House, Lark Ascending

“The evening city lay decrepit and silent under an incessantly seething pink sky. A sky that hung overhead like a field of bloody cotton candy, bisected by the lightning of constantly raging storms. Every once in a while thunder rolled through the streets, shaking the buildings. This was life after the last Black Rain.”
― Costi Gurgu, Pink Corrosion

“There is still life, however. Birds chirp; sparrows, they must be. Their small voices are clear and sharp, nails on glass: there’s no longer there’s no longer any sound of traffic to drown them out. Do they notice that quietness, the absence of motors? If so, are they happier?”
― Margaret Atwood, The Year of the Flood

“The corners of my mouth twitched. Wait. Did this boy just make me smile in the middle of the apocalypse?”
― Candice Jarrett, Mortal Tether

“...the marchers appear four abreast. Dressed in clothing of every description, all wearing red scarves at their necks. Red or orange, as close to red as they could find. . . . He wallowed on the ground and lay watching across his forearm. An army in tennis shoes, tramping. Carrying three-foot lengths of pipe with leather wrappings. Lanyards at the wrist. Some of the pipes were threaded through with lengths of chain fitted at their ends with every manner of bludgeon. They clanked past, marching with a swaying gait like wind-up toys. Bearded, their breath smoking through their masks. Shh, he said. Shh. The phalanx following carried spears or lances tasseled with ribbons, the long blades hammered out of trucksprings in some crude forge upcountry. The boy lay with his face in his arms, terrified. They passed two hundred feet away, the ground shuddering lightly. Tramping. Behind them came wagons drawn by slaves in harness and piled with goods of war and after that the women, perhaps a dozen of them, some of them pregnant, and lastly a supplementary consort of catamites, illclothed against the cold and fitted in dogcollars and yoked each to each.”
― cormac mccarthy, The Road

“When we're all gone at least then there'll be nobody here but death and his days will be numbered too.”
― Cormac McCarthy, The Road

“Out on the roads the pilgrims sank down and fell over and died and the bleak and shrouded earth went trundling pas thte sun and returned again as trackless and as unremarked as the path of any nameless sisterworld in the ancient dark beyond.”
― Cormac McCarthy, The Road

“The mudstained shapes of flooded cities burned to the waterline. A a crossroads a ground set with dolmen stones where the spoken bones of oracles lay mouldering. No sound but the wind.”
― Cormac McCarthy, The Road

“The little car was soon free of the city, for the smear of suburbia that had once lain along the western highways for miles was gone. During the Plague Years of the eighties, when in some areas not one person in twenty remained alive, the suburbs were not a good place to be. Miles from the supermart, no gas for the car, and all the split-level ranch homes around you full of the dead. No help, no food. Packs of huge status-symbol dogs—Afghans, Alsatians, Great Danes—running wild across the lawns ragged with burdock and plantain. Picture window cracked. Who’ll come and mend the broken glass? People had huddled back into the old core of the city; and once the suburbs had been looted, they burned. Like Moscow in 1812, acts of God or vandalism: they were no longer wanted, and they burned. Fireweed, from which bees make the finest honey of all, grew acre after acre over the sites of Kensington Homes West, Sylvan Oak Manor Estates, and Valley Vista Park.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Lathe of Heaven

“There are skeletons in this earth.”
― Corinne Duyvis, On the Edge of Gone

“Mi padre solía decir que la humanidad era incapaz de ver el límite en los horrores que se provocaba a sí misma. Quizás ha tenido que llegar algo más para demostrarnos que, en realidad, no tenemos un límite. Quizás debamos tener que aprender a olvidar esto, vivir con ello.”
― Daniel Godino, Homini: A Möntkurt Tale

“Besides, you can’t change a corrupt system from the inside. You’ve got to cut its roots before any change happens (Cedric Fuentes)”
― Mary Usufzy, The Heir of Illgarat

“I want to be moral;
I believe
In divine justice;
If I do wrong
God will punish me somehow
So I don’t

I’m pure
And I stay away
From everyone;
I’m a poor
And lonesome cowgirl

I’m not
Who you think I am;
Question everything
If you want to find truth;”
― Jazalyn, vViIrRuUsS: I Never Forget

“Mimameid wasn’t built to keep people out. It was built to keep people in. It was built to be a fortress, to keep our people safe behind our walls, but The Celts have changed that.”
― Katherine Kempf, The Mimameid Solution

“What she felt was the pull of home.
And it felt so raw, like the landscape of the North Country being pulled free from the receding ice. The frozen layers that protected her heart were melting away. The wild North was calling to her.”
― Katherine Kempf, The Mimameid Solution

“Siobhan called upon an even deeper part of her. She’d seen what Petra hadn’t even known until that moment. That her love was a far more powerful force than her hate. And far more destructive.”
― Katherine Kempf, The Mimameid Solution

“It occurred to her that these absent-minded glances with nothing jarring about them lubricated the gear wheels of the human bustling, like machine oil. If they took an interest in each other, the friction would be too great and the entire mechanism would be paralyzed.”
― Dmitry Glukhovsky, Metro 2034

“You are wicked," the man told the sky, offering it his flesh. To the sand his bones. To the desert his heart.

The woman ran as fast she could, but it made no difference. She screamed, and her pleading cries of agony reminded the man of the old world of creatures and beasts and beauty, the world he had ruined.

Now the Southern skies were cascading North, clashing with the northern winds like oceanic tidal waves meeting head on. There was nowhere left to run.”
― E.S. Fein, The Process is Love

“Your only responsibility will be to survive, to grow so strong that your people are safe, that they need not fear the reapers in the night. To ensure that Humanity Prevails.”
― Xander Boyce, Advent

“Whenever there’s a riot, that’s how it starts. It grips us to see the foremost god of the modern world crushed by prehistoric might. The burning car is the single most poignant representation of the post-industrial psyche.”
― Cameron Trost, Flicker

“Meat is Meat', Father said, then went about the fellow with a whalebone in the normal fashion, not hurrying the task, but casting a watchful gaze about them as he cut.”
― Peter Hackshaw, Ever Winter

“The is a circle of hair upon my head that chooses not to grow. So, I have enlisted the use of a barber to cut it tight.' - the King.”
― Peter Hackshaw, Ever Winter

“There's no better revenge I could have gotten than this. You asked me if I enjoyed watching him die. No, I didn't. I couldn't bear to hear the repulsive screams he made as he died an agonizing death. I felt the same way when you were crushing your own men in your hands. I was just... frightened.”
― Hajime Isayama

“Leave me,” he groaned in pain. “Run.”
His face paled, blood dribbling between his lips as he coughed.

I’d seen death on people’s faces more times than I could count. Death had a way of revealing people’s true natures. Some people begged, some threatened, some tried to bargain. And this idiot I didn’t even know was dying and still trying to help me. I hated him for it.


He started trying to talk again, grabbing at my hands. 


“Shut up, dumbass,” I hissed at him, pressing harder at his wound. 


He cried out in pain, but his cry cut off as the familiar warmth spread from my chest down my arms and into his stomach. The bullet had gone clean through his gut. Normally a death wound, but not tonight. I could feel his body mending beneath my fingers, all the muscles and organs knitting themselves back together. His hand curled over the top of one of mine, squeezing gently, and I glanced up to see his eyes full of awe. The wound closed shut, leaving what I knew would be a fresh pink scar, and all the warmth left me.”
― K.L. Speer, Bones

“Further back, cooling ponds strewn with rusted pipes were busy with teals and moorhens. An old concrete streetlight stood incongruously in the woods beyond: some ravaged Narnia. Jays catcalled overhead.”
― Cal Flyn, Islands of Abandonment: Life in the Post-Human Landscape

“He had to make a decision, and he had to make it fast. Staying there longer would put his life and everyone else's at risk. If they died, so would those inside the house.”
― Brian Largo, Escaping The City: A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Thriller