All it comes down to is this: I feel like shit but look great.
I have to return some videotapes
Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do?
The better you look, the more you see.
I'm into, oh murders and executions mostly. It depends.
What does that mean know me, know me, nobody ever knows anybody else, ever! You will never know me.
No one ever likes the right person.
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.
I only had sex with her because I'm in love with you.
Our lives are not all interconnected. That theory is a crock. Some people truly do not need to be here.
I like to dissect girls. Did you know I'm utterly insane?
Disappear here
There’s no use in denying it: this has been a bad week. I’ve started drinking my own urine.
Disappear Here. The syringe fills with blood. You're a beautiful boy and that's all that matters. Wonder if he's for sale. People are afraid to merge. To merge.
I laugh maniacally, then take a deep breath and touch my chest- expecting a heart to be thumping quickly, impatiently, but there's nothing there, not even a beat.
Look how black the sky is, the writer said. I made it that way.
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.
We buy balloons, we let them go.
When the going gets tough, the tough go drinking.
Disintegration---I'm taking it in stride.
Why was I holding on to something that would never be mine? But isn't that what people do?
Life is like a typographical error: we're constantly writing and rewriting things over each other.
But this was what happened when you didn't want to visit and confront the past: the past starts visiting and confronting you.
No one will ever know anyone. We just have to deal with each other. You're not ever gonna know me.
You learn to move on without the people you love.
Why not? Give me one good reason why we shouldn't get married." Because trying to fuck you is like trying to french-kiss a very.... small and... lively gerbil? With braces?
Sex is mathematics. Individuality no longer an issue. What does intelligence signify? Define reason. Desire - meaningless. Intellect is not a cure. Justice is dead.
My pain is constant and sharp...this confession has meant nothing
But... what about us? What about the past?" she asks blankly. "The past isn't real. it's just a dream," I say. "Don't mention the past.
I don't want to care. If I care about things, it'll just be worse, it'll just be another thing to worry about. It's less painful if I don't care.
I feel I'm moving toward as well as away from something, and anything is possible.
What else is there to do in college except drink beer or slit one's wrists?
Greed is good. Sex is easy. Youth is forever.
And as things fell apart, nobody paid much attention
The seeds of love have taken hold and if we won't burn together, I'll burn alone.
I think a lot of snowflakes are alike...and I think a lot of people are alike too.
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
What's right? If you want something, you have the right to take it. If you want to do something, you have the right to do it.
Rock 'n' roll. Deal with it.
And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable... I simply am not there.
Yes. Yes I am. I am a completely demented misogynist.
I've forgotten who I had lunch with earlier, and even more important, where.
Adjust my dreams for me.
The Smiths are singing and someone says "Turn that gay angst music off.
I wasn't acting on passion. I was simply acting.
It strikes me profoundly that the world is more often than not a bad and cruel place.
Price. You're priceless.
...when I look over at Luis in one brief flashing moment his head looks like a talking vagina and it scares the bejesus out of me...
What keeps me interested--and it always does--is how can she be a bad actress on film but a good one in reality?
The images I had were of people being driven mad by living in the city. Images of parents who were so hungry and unfulfilled that they ate their own children.
After a while you learn that everything stops.
People are afraid to merge.
But I don't want to wear a condom because I don't feel anything," and she says calmly... glaring at me,"If you don't use one you're not going to feel anything anyway.
I like the idea of a writer being haunted by his own creation, especially if the writer resents the way the character defines him.
How could she ever understand that there isn't any way could be disappointed since I no longer find anything worth looking forward to?
This is true: the world is better off with some people gone. Our lives are not all interconnected. That theory is crock. Some people truly do not need to be here.
...if you're alone nothing bad can happen to you.
And as the elevator descents, passing the second floor, and the first floor, going even father down, I realize that the money doesn't matter. That all that does is that I want to see the worst
Who is this girl? Why is she alive? Wonder if I should leave right now. Get up and say, 'Goodnight fuck-ups, it's been a sheer sensation and I hope I never see any of you again,' and leave?
I've been accused of being very vain about my apathy.
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.
People can get accustomed to anything, right? Habit does things to people.
I'm resourceful," Price is saying. "I'm creative, I'm young, unscrupulous, highly motivate, highly skilled. In essence what I'm saying is that society cannot afford to lose me. I'm an asset
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.
I want to take you away from this," I say, motioning around the kitchen, spastic. "From sushi and elves and... STUFF.
My pain is constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone.
If all of your friends are morons is it a felony, a misdemeanor or an act of God if you blow their fucking heads off with a thirty-eight magnum?
I want to moan and writhe with you and I want to go up to you and kiss your mouth and pull you to me and say "I love you I love you I love you" while stripping. I want you so bad it stings.
I needed something--the distraction of another life--to alleviate fear.
Why do I sense hostility on your part, Patrick?” she asks softly, then sips her wine. “Maybe because I’m hostile,” I spit out. “Maybe because you sense this.
I'd get confused and write down things just to write them down and I came to this realization that I didn't do enough things to keep a datebook.
You do not write a novel for praise, or thinking of your audience. You write for yourself; you work out between you and your pen the things that intrigue you
Fear never shows up and the party ends early.
I am gripped by an existential panic.
Women aren't very bright," Rip says. "Studies have been done.
From those of us who are left behind: you will be remembered, you were the one I needed, I loved you in my dreams.
What? Did we end up hating each other? Did we end up the way we thought we always knew would? Did I end up wearing khakis because of that fucking ad?
Why was I holding on to something that would never be mine?" (But isn't that what people do?)
How is your father?” she asks disinterestedly. “A contrivance,” I mutter. “A plot device.
When you love a book it loves you back.
I'm on the verge of tears by the time we arrive at Pastels since I'm positive we won't get seated but the table is good, and relief that is almost tidal in scope washes over me in an awesome wave.
The numbing lists of things you were supposed to have as an American to make you happy, which ultimately, of course, don't. Those aren't the things that make you happy.
By the time you finish reading this sentence, a Boeing jetliner will take off or land somewhere in the world.
Do you wear a diaphragm everywhere you go?' I want to scream, but stop myself because the idea really excites me.
There is no time for the innocent.
A vast and abandoned world laid out in anonymous grids and quadrants, a view that confirmed you were much more alone than you thought you were, a view that inspired the flickering thoughts of suicide.
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.
Nothing. Nothing makes me happy. I like nothing," I tell her.
Everything suddenly seems displaced, subtle gradations erase borders, but it’s more forceful than that.
I'm thinking about the beautiful boy on the treadmill wearing the I STILL HAVE A DREAM T-shirt and realize that it might not have been ironic.
If you can’t make a girl come why even bother? That always seemed to me to be like writing questions in a letter.
What's the difference between a J.A.P and spaghetti? Spaghetti moves when you eat it.
I could stay living in this city if they just installed Blaupunkts in the cabs.
Her need is so immense that you become surrounded by it; this need is so enormous that you realize you can actually control it, and I know this because I've done it before.
You're a beautiful boy, Clay, but that's about it.
This isn't a script," Julian says. "It's not going to add up. Not everything's going to come together in the third act.
You should never mistake affection for … passion,” I warn her. “It can be … not good. It can … get you into, well, trouble.
Scientists peered into data and concluded that we should all be worried. -Lunar planet
You can't get dyslexia from pussy.
