True Detective

Marty: What do you call a black man who flies a plane?
Bobby: I don’t know.
Marty: Pilot, you racist bastard.

I think human consciousness is a tragic misstep in evolution. We became too self–aware. Nature created an aspect of nature separate from itself — we are creatures that should not exist by natural law. We are things that labor under the illusion of having a self, that accretion of sensory experience and feelings, programmed with total assurance that we are each somebody, when in fact everybody's nobody. I think the honorable thing for our species to do is to deny our programming. Stop reproducing, walk hand in hand into extinction — one last midnight, brothers and sisters opting out of a raw deal.

Never do anything out of hunger. Not even eating.

— This place is like somebody's memory of a town, and the memory is fading. It's like there was never anything here but jungle.
— Stop saying shit like that. It's unprofessional.

— Do you wonder ever if you're a bad man?
— No. I don't wonder, Marty. The world needs bad men. We keep the other bad men from the door.

Life’s barely long enough to get good at one thing. So be careful what you get good at.