Death Video Games Quotes

Over the centuries, mankind has tried many ways of combating the forces of evil... prayer, fasting, good works and so on. Up until Doom, no one seemed to have thought about the double-barrel shotgun. Eat leaden death, demon...

My peak? Would I even have one? I hardly had had anything you could call a life. A few ripples. some rises and falls. But that's it. Almost nothing. Nothing born of nothing. I'd loved and been loved, but I had nothing to show. It was a singularly plain, featureless landscape. I felt like I was in a video game. A surrogate Pacman, crunching blindly through a labyrinth of dotted lines. The only certainty was my death.

People said that video games were bad because they made you numb to death, made you register entrails splattering across a screen as a sign of success. In that moment, Val thought that the real problem with games was that the player was suppossed to try everything. If there was a cave, you went in it. If there was a mysterious stranger, you talked to him. If there was a map, you followed it. But in games, you had a hundred million billion lives and Val only had this one.

I happen to have a certain fondness for existing--soda wouldn't have that lovely fizzy feeling if you were dead. Think of all the things you would miss: Cartoons, music, movies, video games, music, art, fingernail growth, sex...well, perhaps not sex, depending on how weird your mortician is.

Look seeker, if you love a character, you give them pain, ruin their lives, make them suffer. Maybe even throw in a heroic death!

The Nevernever is dying, human. It grows smaller and smaller every decade. Too much progress, too much technology. Mortals are losing their faith in anything but science. Even the children of man are consumed by progress. They sneer at the old stories and are drawn to the newest gadgets, computers, or video games. They no longer believe in monsters of magic. As cities grown and technology takes over the world, belief and imagination fade away, and so do we." "What can we do to stop it?" I whispered. "Nothing." Grimalkin raised a hind leg and scratched an ear. "Maybe the Nevenever will hold out till the end of the world. Maybe it will disappear in a few centuries. Everything dies eventually, human.

When I was a young man, I had liberty, but I did not see it. I had time, but I did not know it. And I had love, but I did not feel it. Many decades would pass before I understood the meaning of all three. And now, the twilight of my life, this understanding has passed into contentment. Love, liberty, and time: once so disposable, are the fuels that drive me forward. And love, most especially, mio caro. For you, our children, our brothers and sisters. And for the vast and wonderful world that gave us life, and keeps us guessing. Endless affection, mia Sofia. Forever yours, Ezio Auditore.

HS is supposedly a story that is also a game. In games, the characters die all the time. How many times did you let Mario fall in the pit before he saved the princess? Who weeps for these Marios. In games your characters die, but you keep trying and trying and rebooting and resetting until finally they make it. When you play a game this process is all very impersonal. Once you finally win, when all is said and done those deaths didn’t “count”, only the linear path of the final victorious version of the character is considered “real”. Mario never actually died, did he? Except the omniscient player knows better. HS seems to combine all the meaningless deaths of a trial-and-error game journey with the way death is treated dramatically in other media, where unlike our oblivious Mario, the characters are aware and afraid of the many deaths they must experience before finally winning the game.

We should do something,” I said. “Can the something be play blind-guy video games while sitting on the couch?” “Yeah, that’s just the kind of something I had in mind.” So we sat there for a couple hours talking to the screen together, navigating this invisible labyrinthine cave without a single lumen of light. The most entertaining part of the game by was far trying to get the computer to engage with us in humorous conversation: Me: “Touch the cave wall.” Computer: “You touch the cave wall. It is moist.” Isaac: “Lick the cave wall.” Computer: “I do not understand. Repeat?” Me: “Hump the cave wall.” Computer: “You attempt to jump. You hit your head.” Isaac: “Not jump. HUMP.” Computer: “I don’t understand.” Isaac: “Dude, I’ve been alone in the dark in this cave for weeks and I need some relief. HUMP THE CAVE WALL.” Computer: “You attempt to ju—” Me: “Thrust pelvis against cave wall.” Computer: “I do not—” Isaac: “Make sweet love to the cave.” Computer: “I do not—” Me: “FINE. Follow left branch.” Computer: “You follow the left branch. The passage narrows.” Me: “Crawl.” Computer: “You crawl for one hundred yards. The passage narrows.” Me: “Snake crawl.” Computer: “You snake crawl for thirty yards. A trickle of water runs down your body. You reach a mound of small rocks blocking the passageway.” Me: “Can I hump the cave now?” Computer: “You cannot jump without standing.” Isaac: “I dislike living in a world without Augustus Waters.” Computer: “I don’t understand—” Isaac: “Me neither. Pause.

I need to go marry my wife, so I can beat her to death.

Death is not the only possible outcome.

There was a famous incident during an Orlando Pirates soccer match a few years ago. A cat got into the stadium and ran through the crowd and out onto the pitch in the middle of the game. A security guard, seeing the cat, did what any sensible black person would do. He said to himself, “That cat is a witch.” He caught the cat and—live on TV—he kicked it and stomped it and beat it to death with a sjambok, a hard leather whip. It was front-page news all over the country. White people lost their shit. Oh my word, it was insane. The security guard was arrested and put on trial and found guilty of animal abuse. He had to pay some enormous fine to avoid spending several months in jail. What was ironic to me was that white people had spent years seeing video of black people being beaten to death by other white people, but this one video of a black man kicking a cat, that’s what sent them over the edge. Black people were just confused. They didn’t see any problem with what the man did. They were like, “Obviously that cat was a witch. How else would a cat know how to get out onto a soccer pitch? Somebody sent it to jinx one of the teams. That man had to kill the cat. He was protecting the players.

People don't talk about death. Not really. People fear it. Ignore it. Deny it. They're happy to blow one another's heads off in those infernal video games or devour horrific films where people are murdered in the most gruesome of ways, while refusing to face the reality of what death is or to have a grown-up discussion about what it means.

We have each other. We lived apart from them; we understand now. Our failure to touch, to belong. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Everybody is gone, and we will join them. We are born apart, driftwood on the banks of an endless dark ocean. And we will be carried away by the swell soon enough. But in between, in a single day of living… that dancing in a strip of sunlight, we can find what we miss. The love that makes us whole. The imminence. Everybody found their other. This pattern is mine...

Death had come to be treated too often like lost points in a video game.

The best you can wish for anyone, Sam decided, is a video game death. Which is to say, spectacular and brief.

The best you can wish for anyone is a video game death. Which is to say, spectacular and brief.

What after all, is a video game’s subtextual preoccupation if not the erasure of mortality?

Zombie nerds. They probably had the flyers already made up for this. There was nobody creepier than the zombie nerds, college guys who not only watched zombie movies and read zombie novels and played zombie video games, but actually formed clubs and collected zombie-killing weapons. Gun shops around there actually stocked zombie targets, and special zombie bullets with glow-in-the-dark tips. Not toy bullets, mind you. These guys would go out in the woods and train and shoot and defend to the death their right to stay in childhood until age thirty-five.

Instead of violent wars there could be violent video games. Instead of heroic feats, there could be thrilling amusement park rides. Instead of serious thought, there could be intrigues of all sorts as if in a soap opera. It is a world where people spend their lives amusing themselves to death.

Peabody wandered off, scanning the entertainment units lining the wall, wondering what it would be like to be able to afford any amusement available: music, art, video, holograms, VR, meditation chambers, games. Play a set of tennis with the latest Wimbeldon champ, dance with a hologram of Fred Astaire,

I am convinced that if we lose kids to the culture of drugs and materialism, of violence and war, it’s because we don’t dare them, not because we don’t entertain them. It’s because we make the gospel too easy, not because we make it too difficult. Kids want to do something heroic with their lives, which is why they play video games and join the army. But what are they to do with a church that teaches them to tiptoe through life so they can arrive safely at death?

No matter what she said publicly, the principal of North Hammond High did not believe in rehabilitation for the young. It was too expensive, and its results were unreliable. Recidivism was high. Better to accept that with a few exceptions the young were an accursed generation, frontal lobes stunted from video games, cell phones, TV, sex-gratification by the hour. They had no sense of history and so could have no sense of the future. Equipped with state-of-the-art

A multiverse hurtling toward an inevitable heat death 100 trillion years in the future. An alien race of religious fanatics bent on absorbing all sentient life. Another alien race fighting back. A world of magicians living in secret. And himself, a contractor, a human Vorid that could absorb his enemies and grow stronger. All in less than 24 hours. And here he was, relaxing on his roof. Maybe video games really did desensitize you to this stuff. Except if he died, he wasn’t going to pop back to life.

...to be an American adult has always been to be a symbolic figure in someone else’s coming-of-age story. And that’s no way to live. It is a kind of moral death in a culture that claims youthful self-invention as the greatest value. We can now avoid this fate. The elevation of every individual’s inarguable likes and dislikes over formal critical discourse, the unassailable ascendancy of the fan, has made children of us all. We have our favorite toys, books, movies, video games, songs, and we are as apt to turn to them for comfort as for challenge or enlightenment.

The Ware Collection of Blaschka Glass Models of Plants consists of around four thousand painstakingly accurate fire-blown glass and hand-painted specimens. A German father-and-son team had made them, around the turn of the nineteenth century, as a commission from the university. They were the answer to a problem: How do you preserve the impossible to preserve? Or, in other words, how do you stop time and death? Could there have been a more propitious place to begin the company that would become Unfair Games? What, after all, is a video game’s subtextual preoccupation if not the erasure of mortality?

The Ware Collection of Blaschka Glass Models of Plants consists of around four thousand painstakingly accurate fire-blown glass and hand-painted specimens. A German father-and-son team had made them, around the turn of the nineteenth century, as a commission from the university. They were the answer to a problem: How do you preserve the impossible to preserve? Or, in other words, how do you stop time and death? Could there have been a more propitious place to begin the company that would become Unfair Games? What, after all, is a video game's subtextual preoccupation if not the erasure of mortality?

Like many in his generation, Billy had grown up playing first-person-shooter video games. He decided to take that experience a few steps further and resolved to join a SWAT team and shoot bad guys for real. He visited the local police station to find out what requirements and training were necessary to become a SWAT team member. He found out that the process was a lot more involved than he expected. He first needed to attend a police academy and become a police officer. Afterwards he would have to work his way onto a SWAT team over time. There were no guarantees. During his visit to the police station he learned that many SWAT members were former Marine Corps snipers. During that same visit the cops ran Billy’s plates through their criminal database and learned that he had outstanding warrants for speeding tickets. They unceremoniously arrested him and tossed him into jail.

The average American child, by age eighteen, is estimated to have seen eighteen thousand murders and two hundred thousand acts of violence on television. The “death play” of popular video games is accelerating these numbers to ever-higher levels.

Other games are exciting, sure, but I don't think I've ever leaped up and screamed at the television, arms raised in jubilation, whilst playing any other game. The way you feel during the final minutes of those tight boss fights, where both you and your foe are millimetres from death and you've been holding your breath for seemingly minutes at a time, is not something most video games are capable of eliciting.

Over the course of writing this book, one thing I've heard over and over again from Dark Souls players is that, because of the high stakes, both victory and defeat feel more meaningful... Other games are exciting, sure, but I don't think I've ever leaped up and screamed at the television, arms raised in jubilation, whilst playing any other game. The way you feel during the final minutes of those tight boss fights, where both you and your foe are millimetres from death and you've been holding your breath for seemingly minutes at a time, is not something most video games are capable of eliciting.

When I was a kid we had this stuff called “paper.” Every year millions upon millions of squids were hunted and squeezed to death for their ink to produce physical books. Publishing a book on forestry required leveling a small forest. Yet, despite a larger population, we have not run out of trees. Arbor Day didn’t save them. Private enterprise did—it invented USB flash drives, Kindles, and enough addictive video games to permanently dissuade children from ever touching a book. Earth’s

He asks me if I'd ever killed someone and rushes from the kitchen table, but I ask him to stay, to listen. "Collateral Damage," I say, "is the polite way of expressing the death of civilians who unknowingly mingle with the enemy." He's thirteen now, fascinated with video games glamorizing real wars. I rise to leave, and he says, "But Dad, you didn't answer my question." I did.

At this moment, my fingers are on a computer keboard. I'm going to type "geimu" and try to decide how I want the computer to convert it. Will it be a positive [...] (artful dream), or a negative [...] (receive nothing)? Or will i remain as it always has: [...] (video game)?

Or, rather, there is a duel between them: death toys with life, life toys with death. Which of the two succumbs? Stanislaw Lec reverses the terms here: it is not we who defend ourselves against death, it is death that defends itself against us: 'Death resists us, but it gives in in the end.' Nothing else so stunning as this has ever been said about death. Needless to say, this dual relationship has nothing to do with interactivity, which is a parody of it. There is nothing interactive in the antagonistic process of reversibility and becoming. The feminine and the masculine are not 'interactive': that is ridiculous. Life and the world are not interactive -life isn't a question-and-answer session or a video game. There is nothing interactive in words when they are articulated in language. Interactivity is a gigantic mythology, a mythology of integrated systems or of systems craving integration, a mythology in which otherness is lost in feedback, interlocution and interface - a kind of generalized echography.

They also threw in something they called a Death Cam. After the final enemy, known as "the boss" of an episode, got killed, a message would appear on the screen saying, "Let's see that again!" Then a de tailed animation would slowly play, showing the big, bad boss meeting his grisly demise. This Death Cam was id's version of a snuff film. They decided to include a screen at the beginning of the game that would say, 'This game is voluntarily rated PC-13: Profound Carnage.' Though tongue-in-cheek, it was the first voluntary rating of a video game.

The 73rd police precinct was two blocks south of Linden Boulevard and was known by everyone in Brownsville as one of the most racist precincts in Brooklyn. There were more claims of police brutality, false arrests and “accidental deaths” than almost any other police department in New York at that time. Let us not forget, New York police have been responsible for the sodomization and the chokehold death of Michael Stewart, the shooting of Eleanor Bumpers, the sodomy of Abner Louima, the chokehold death of Eric Gardner…

Kojima: I want the players to experience things that are only possible within video games and that have never been done before. Otherwise, there’s no point in making the game.

Twenty-five years ago, I incorporated a story and a message into video games—two elements largely considered unnecessary. Now, with the sudden rise of mobile gaming, the trend is reversing. It may be that the times have come to a conclusion: “Video games should be for killing time. They will not rise to the level of being culture.

surveillance. And I could only get privileges if I completed my hard labor. And if I didn’t listen, I got thrown in the hole. . .solitary confinement with no video games, no friends and no cake. I don’t know if I’m gonna make it. It’s either gonna do me in or I need to. . .I need to. . . That’s it! I need to escape! No one that has tried to escape this parental death trap has ever been seen again. But I need to succeed where my brothers in arms have failed. I had to make a Prison Break!

By becoming the tiger, I found a different way to pass on my stories than the one I had so rigidly insisted upon. And so, even as a tiger, I intend to keep on howling into the later generations. Those stories will become new memes, not as prose, but as video games.

The mountain I’ve climbed—the creating of video games—is undergoing a seismic shift, and its form is changing. But I suppose I will keep climbing. Not “because it’s there.” But rather, because it’s not there.

This is the religion that, inside the walls of the Vatican, even now keeps Latin going as a living language, translating such words as “computer,” “video game” and “heavy metal” into Latin, over a millennium after the language ought to have died a natural death.