Do you wear a diaphragm everywhere you go?’ I want to scream, but stop myself because the idea really excites me.
BRET EASTON ELLISThere’s no use in denying it: this has been a bad week. I’ve started drinking my own urine.
More Bret Easton Ellis Quotes
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After a while you learn that everything stops.
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I kept staring into the blackness of the woods, drawn into the darkness as I always had been. I suddenly realized how alone I was. (But this is how you travel, the wind whispered back, this is how you’ve always lived.)
BRET EASTON ELLIS -
I have to return some videotapes
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I’ve never written an autobiographical novel in my life. I’ve never touched upon my life. I’ve never written a single scene that I can say took place.
BRET EASTON ELLIS -
I want no one to escape, but even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing.
BRET EASTON ELLIS -
Do you know what Ed Gein said about women?’ […] ‘”When I see a pretty girl walking down the street I think two things.
BRET EASTON ELLIS -
If I want to write a movie, I’ll write a screenplay, but if I have an idea for a book, it’s something that I think can only be done novelistically.
BRET EASTON ELLIS -
I really believe that readers are smart and sophisticated enough to realize that the author is not the narrator of his novels.
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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.
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Greed is good. Sex is easy. Youth is forever.
BRET EASTON ELLIS -
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.
BRET EASTON ELLIS -
I like the idea of a writer being haunted by his own creation, especially if the writer resents the way the character defines him.
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And it struck me then, that I liked Sean because he looked, well, slutty. A boy who had been around. A boy who couldn’t remember if he was Catholic or not.
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I locked in on the smug feeling of superiority that married couples give off and that permeated the air – the shared assumptions, the sweet and contented apathy, it all lingered everywhere – despite the absence in the room of anyone single at which to aim this.
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You really write the books you want to write. You can’t take into consideration anything that anybody has said about you in the past, or what they’ll say about you in the future.
BRET EASTON ELLIS