I tried to make meat loaf out of the girl but it becomes too frustrating a task and instead I spend the afternoon smearing her meat all over the walls, chewing on strips of skin I ripped from her body
BRET EASTON ELLISAnd 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.
More Bret Easton Ellis Quotes
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I was simply imitating reality, a rough resemblance of a human being, with only a dim corner of my mind functioning
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The seeds of love have taken hold and if we won’t burn together, I’ll burn alone.
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Hello, 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…
BRET EASTON ELLIS -
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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Everyone I know who is successful has issues with their father, regardless of whether it was sports or business or entertainment.
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Writing fiction is an act of imagination and fantasizing, and it’s not relating in prose what you’ve been doing for the last two or three years.
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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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I don’t know why I write what I write.
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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 we’ve all lost some kind of feeling.
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You learn to move on without the people you love.
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When I’m writing a book, I’m not thinking, “Oh, this would be a great movie.” This would be a very interesting book. And I think the books are things that cannot really be adapted into another medium.
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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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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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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 ELLIS