At Columbus Circle, a juggler wearing a trench cloak and top hat, who is usually at this location afternoons and who calls himself Stretch Man, performs in front of a small, uninterested crowd; though I smell prey, and he seems worthy of my wrath.
BRET EASTON ELLISRock ‘n’ roll. Deal with it.
More Bret Easton Ellis Quotes
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Women aren’t very bright,” Rip says. “Studies have been done.
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I move on in search of a less dorky target. Though if he’d been a mime, odds are he’d already be dead.
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Do you know what Ed Gein said about women?’ […] ‘”When I see a pretty girl walking down the street I think two things.
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Her taste in music haunted my memory and I had to stop at Tower Records on the Upper West Side to buy ninety dollars’ worth of rap CDs but, as expected, I’m at a loss: […] voices uttering ugly words like digit, pudding, chunk.
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People are afraid to merge.
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I think basically most men are misogynistic.
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We buy balloons, we let them go.
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I’m not a big believer in disciplined writers. What does discipline mean? The writer who forces himself to sit down and write for seven hours every day might be wasting those seven hours if he’s not in the mood and doesn’t feel the juice. I don’t think discipline equals creativity.
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With “Taipei” Tao Lin becomes the most interesting prose stylist of his generation…
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You don’t market-research a novel; you really are writing it for yourself. It’s a hobby, in many ways. The problem becomes what you do when you’re confronted by criticism. You just don’t listen to it.
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Writing a novel that works is an extremely difficult thing to do. It requires a level of skill and dedication that always surprises me.
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People just… disappear,” he says. “The Earth just opens up and swallows people,” I say, some what sadly, checking my Rolex. “Eerie.” Kimball yawns, stretching. “Really eerie.” “Ominous.” I nod my agreement. “It’s just”- he sights, exasperated- “futile.
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I stare into a thin, web-like crack above the urinal’s handle and think to myself that if I were to disappear into that crack, say somehow miniaturize and slip into it, the odds are good that no one would notice I was gone.
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Look how black the sky is, the writer said. I made it that way.
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I don’t know why I write what I write.
BRET EASTON ELLIS