A worm looks up and sees the face of God! But look around... it's a regular convention of worms in here. They all had mothers, fathers, people who loved them. They got married, fucked their wives. What makes you think you're any different?
I haven't chosen a spot for you on the wall yet. Let me know if you have a preference.
—Andrew Ryan, Bioshock
The Jester: Ah, I really wouldn't have chosen to hide way back there, girl. That's where I house my last... guest. OOOOOOHOOHOOHOO! He's rank, isn't he? Look at the way the flesh has kind of oozed... and oh, is that insect larvae I see there?
Erimem: [struggling not to vomit] ...who?
The Jester: Who, indeed - or rather what. Erimem, meet the last Time Lord to meddle in my affairs! He wanted to check out, so I obliged: I squeezed his brain so hard his almighty holier-than-thou intellect poured right out of his ears!
"Oh, but I have a gift for you." He smiled and slid a small wet thing across the table. "My mother's tongue. It's quite fresh, I assure you. I kept her alive for some time to watch the deaths of her elephants, but eventually I tired of her. I did keep her head, for a memento. I feel inclined to share."
—Shem Shem Tsiem, Angelmaker
She's pretty, don't you think? You disagree? Perhaps you feel sorry for her. But think: in years to come she would have grown old and ugly. Men would have used her. Children would have burst forth from her. Her teeth would have rotted from her head, her skin would have wrinkled and aged, and her hair would have grown thin and white. Now, she will always be a child, and she will always be beautiful. And soon, you too will be like her.
—The Huntress, The Book of Lost Things
