Exploitation is a harsh word, I know that, but on a certain level, to me that is the central Hollywood story.
BRET EASTON ELLISExploitation is a harsh word, I know that, but on a certain level, to me that is the central Hollywood story.
More Bret Easton Ellis Quotes
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A great numb feeling washes over me as I let go of the past and look forward to the future. Pretend to be a vampire.
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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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No one is drawn to writing about being happy or feelings of joy.
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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.
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I don’t really need to pretend, because it’s who I am, an emotional vampire. I’ve just come to expect it. Vampires are real. That I was born this way. That I feed off of other people’s real emotions. Search for this night’s prey. Who will it be?
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On the seals’ tank a plaque warns: COINS CAN KILL–IF SWALLOWED, COINS CAN LODGE IN AN ANIMAL’S STOMACH AND CAUSE ULCERS, INFECTIONS AND DEATH. DO NOT THROW COINS IN THE POOL.
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I think a lot of snowflakes are alike…and I think a lot of people are alike too.
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Yes. Yes I am. I am a completely demented misogynist.
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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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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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Regardless of the business aspect of things, is there a reason that there isn’t a female Hitchcock or a female Scorsese or a female Spielberg? I don’t know. I think it’s a medium that really is built for the male gaze and for a male sensibility.
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That’s how I became the damaged party boy who wandered through the wreckage, blood streaming from his nose, asking questions that never required answers.
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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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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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I have to return some videotapes
BRET EASTON ELLIS