With “Taipei” Tao Lin becomes the most interesting prose stylist of his generation…
BRET EASTON ELLISHello, Halberstam,” Owen says, walking by. Hello, Owen,” I say, admiring the way he’s styled and slicked back his hair, with a part so even and sharp it…
More Bret Easton Ellis Quotes
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And,” Price adds, smiling, “if another round of Bellinis comes within a twenty-foot radius of our table we are going to set the maitre d’ on fire. So you know, warn him.
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So…” Kimball looks at his book helplessly. “There’s nothing you can tell me about Paul Owen?” “Well.” I sigh. “He led what I suppose was an orderly life, I guess. “ Really stumped, I offer, “He…ate a balanced diet.
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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.
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He was simply someone who floated through our lives and didn’t seem to care how flatly he perceived everyone or that he’d shared our secret failures with the world, showcasing the youthful indifference, the gleaming nihilism, glamorizing the horror of it all.
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I think the ’80s created me, in a way, when I look back on that time, but I don’t necessarily think that a lot of my choices, and a lot of things that I did, and a lot of things that happened to me – or I let happen to me – were about that decade.
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So what do I do? Toss a handful of change into the tank when none of the zookeepers are watching. It’s not the seals I hate——it’s the audience’s enjoyment of them that bothers me.
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How could she ever understand that there isn’t any way could be disappointed since I no longer find anything worth looking forward to?
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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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The Smiths are singing and someone says “Turn that gay angst music off.
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Open the hood of a car and it will tell you something about the people who designed it, is just one of many phrases I’m tortured by.
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But this road doesn’t go anywhere,” I told him. “That doesn’t matter.” “What does?” I asked, after a little while. “Just that we’re on it, dude,” he said.
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She sits before me, sullen but hopeful, characterless, about to dissolve into tears. I squeeze her hand back, moved, no, touched by her ignorance of evil. She has one more test to pass. Do you own a briefcase?” I ask her, swallowing.
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People are afraid to merge.
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Baby, when you were young and your heart was an open book, you used to say live and let live. You know you did, you know you did, you know you did.
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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