See we all got what I call a life trap, a gene deep certainty that things will be different, that you’ll move to another city and meet the people that’ll be the friends you have for the rest of your life, that you’ll fall in love and be fulfilled. Fucking fulfillment. And closure. Where the fuck those two…empty jars to hold this shitstorm.

Fucking nothing’s ever fulfilled. Until the very end. And closure. No. No no. Nothing is ever over. The ontological fallacy of expecting a light at the end of the tunnel — well that’s what the preacher sells. Same as the shrink. See preacher, he encourages your capacity for illusion, and he tells you it’s a fucking virtue. Always a buck to be had doing that.

He’s such a desparate sense of entitlement, isn’t it? Surely this is all for me? Me? Me me me. I I. I’m so fucking important. I’m so fucking important, right?

Rust Cohle

True Detective, Season 1