Hart: Today, that scene. That is the most fucked up thing I ever caught. Ask you something? You’re Christian, yeah?
Cohle: No.
Hart: Well then what do you got that cross for in your apartment?
Cohle: That’s a form of meditation.
Hart: How’s that?
Cohle: I contemplate the moment in the garden, the idea of allowing your own crucifixion.
Hart: But you’re not a Christian, so what do you believe?
Cohle: I believe that people shouldn’t talk about this type of shit at work.
Hart: Hold on, hold on. Three months we been together, I get nothing from you. Today, what we’re into, now. Do me a courtesy, okay? I’m not trying to convert you.
Cohle: Look, I’d consider myself a realist, alright, but in philosophical terms I’m what’s called a pessimist.
Hart: Um, okay, what’s that mean?
Cohle: It means I’m bad a parties.
Hart: Let me tell ya, you ain’t great outside of parties either.
Cohle: I think human consciousness was 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.
Hart: Well that sounds God-fucking awful, Rust.
Cohle: We are things that labor under the illusion of having a self, a secretion of sensory experience and feeling, programmed with total assurance that we are each somebody, when in fact everybody’s nobody.
Hart: I wouldn’t go around spouting that shit I was you. People around here don’t think that way. I don’t think that way.
Cohle: I think the honorable thing for our species to do is deny our programming; stop reproducing, walk hand in hand into extinction. One last midnight, brothers and sisters opting out of a raw deal.
Hart: So what’s the point of getting out of bed in the morning?
Cohle: I tell myself I bear witness, but the real answer is that it’s obviously my programming. And I lack the constitution for suicide.
Hart: So, what’s the point of getting out of bed in the morning?
Cohle: I tell myself I bear witness, but the real answer is that it’s obviously my programming. And I lack the constitution for suicide.
Hart: My luck, I picked today to get to know you. Three months, I don’t hear a word from you and—
Cohle: You asked.
Hart: Yeah. And now I’m begging for you to shut the fuck up.
Cohle: I get a bad taste in my mouth out here. Aluminum. Ash. I can smell a psycho’s fear.
Hart: I got an idea. Let’s make the car a place of silent reflection from now on. Okay?
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