Dark Quotes - Page 4

Secrets are dangerous.” Gottfried Baumauer.

Men circle like bees around honey, buzzing to communicate their sexual despair.

His manhood sways briefly, then comes to a standstill.

You are a more powerful person than you might have ever imagined.” Maxwell D. Kalist.

Are there not times, Ridley, when you yourself wish only to hear the best in people – and not to be dragged downwards into the underworld we all regularly inhabit?

You need a father figure in your life.

Kalist brings out his best for the clincher. “You’ve never really loved your wife, have you, Ridley?

Obelmäker always suspected Kalist of being a driven man with a determined selfishness that verged on sociopathic, but he actually appears to be suffering for once, in a humane way, like one who has been driven and selfish previously, but has slowly started to see the gigantic error of his ways.

Baumauer wants a life in which he cannot be belittled, judged or controlled by worse men.

To Kalist, Baumauer’s just a timber bridge in need of a good hot fire.

Only men with intelligence, confidence and absolutely no empathy at all can progress upstairs.

Kalist is in his office with the door shut, secretly adding the final touches to his new Brichacek doll; she’s got rosy, plaster cheeks and his nose hairs for pubes, although he thinks he might die them blond to go with her hair.

Kalist likes to listen to the collective voices swell as more individuals in his colony arrive.

Obelmäker is a deeply fearful person and terribly indecisive. Even when he makes a choice, it’s usually bad.

An overnight bag with the company logo – a white silhouette of a finch (which once perched on the curved back of a stallion representing cofounder, Orwell, but has now been ‘adjusted’) – sits motionless beside him on the carpet, sucking up bedbugs.

You’re a fat cunt and you can’t add up to save your life.” Dimitri Pissec.

Opposite Pissec sits ghoulish Gottfried Baumauer, a tall, skinny workaholic with dark-ringed eye sockets and long, yellowing smoker’s fingers. He’s thirty-eight. He doesn’t say much. He drinks a lot of tea – likes it strong as tar. He lines up the strained, dry bags on his desk like dead, tailless voles.

Obelmäker is eating at his desk, a habit both Baumauer and Pissec find repulsive.

As Baumauer hangs his shit-coloured coat up on a hook he takes clandestine pleasure in engulfing Obelmäker’s less impressive attire with his own. Privately, he warns the inferior coat, “Don’t suffocate in there.

Baumauer secretly fears Kalist – and Kalist knows it.