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How could —as a twenty-year-old innocently wishing for significance-have stood a chance at cosmic dignity in such a place, a place where any patient meditation was beset on all sides by a thousand screens diverting attention's reverence to those who expropriated and despoiled? It had felt so good to believe that if I worked hard in the service of those around me and they were rewarding me for it, then I must be a good person, but now I knew that such logic had ruined me, and at twenty-seven I felt the terror of a recovering alcoholic in the world's unending crapulence, fighting my way uphill through the burning promise of another new New York.

— Circular Motion by Alex Foster (Page 288)

Pulling a tuft of grass, weighing it in her hand, she tried. to think about things that made her happy. All those things the trees, the sky, human communication and trust, genuine health, diversity and creativity of thought-seemed to be the very things people around her were sweating and slaving to subdue. Why? Why did she have to live in a civilization that conspired to destroy the elements that made people's lives worth living?

— Circular Motion by Alex Foster (Page 246)