Life & Wisdom Quote by Paul Kane

Kane’s line isn’t really about darkness; it’s about the stories we tell to sound tougher than we feel. The first move is a deliberately provocative overreach: “I don’t know anyone who actually likes the dark.” That’s less a statistic than a social dare, a way of puncturing the modern pose of being unbothered. By dismissing the inevitable counterclaim (“I don’t care how much they say it doesn’t bother them”), he frames reassurance as performance - the kind of casual bravado people deploy to signal competence, independence, adulthood.

The kicker is the pivot to evolutionary memory: caves, huddling, fire. It’s a compact myth of human origins, doing what good cultural writing often does - collapsing millennia into a single image you can feel in your body. Firelight becomes not just warmth but community, technology, control. Night isn’t spooky because of ghosts; it’s scary because it removes options. You can’t see. You can’t read a threat. You can’t confirm you’re safe. Kane’s subtext is that fear of the dark isn’t childish; it’s a baseline feature, and civilization is basically an elaborate coping mechanism: lighting, locks, screens, constant noise.

There’s also a mild scolding embedded in the “used to.” We’re not in caves, but we still “huddle”: in group chats, with the TV on, under the glow of a phone. The quote works because it makes private unease feel ancient, communal, and therefore harder to ridicule.