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.
BRET EASTON ELLISBaby, 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.
More Bret Easton Ellis Quotes
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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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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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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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…if you’re alone nothing bad can happen to you.
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My pain is constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone.
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And though the coldness I have always felt leaves me, the numbness doesn’t and probably never will. this relationship will probably lead to nothing… this didn’t change anything. I imagine her smelling clean, like tea.
BRET EASTON ELLIS -
There’s no grand plan. All I know is that I write the books I want to write. All that other stuff is meaningless to me.
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After a while you learn that everything stops.
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I come to a red light, tempted to go through it, then stop once I see a billboard sign that I don’t remember seeing and I look up at it.
BRET EASTON ELLIS -
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.)
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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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It’s as if her mind is having a hard time communicating with her mouth, as if she is searching for a rational analysis of who I am, which is, of course, an impossibility: there… is… no… key.
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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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And as things fell apart, nobody paid much attention
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People are afraid to merge.
BRET EASTON ELLIS