Quotes from Jennifer Egan

Rich people like to hostess, so they can show off their nice stuff. Tonight

You will feel a surge as the data floods your body. The surge may contain memory, heat, cold, longing, pain, or even joy. Although the data are alien, the memories dislodged will be your own…

I understand now that nothing will ever happen between M and me, precisely because it has just come so close to happening and yet not happened.

I want words that are still alive, that have a pulse. Hot words, people! Give me the bullet, not the casing — fire it right in my chest. I'll die gladly for some fresh language.

She was not unique, but neither was she alone. Reading might have saved her.

He tipped back his head to look at the sky, its torn beauty rinsed and salved by fog, and imagined he was seeing their opioid dreams rising into heaven.

As a model, of course, I'd carried my face like a sign, holding it out a foot or so in front of me—not out of pride or vanity, God knew; those had been stamped out long ago, or at any rate, disjoined from my physical appearance. No, out of sheer practicality: here's what I am. Calling card, handshake, précis, call it what you like; it was what I had to offer to the world where I had spent my life.

One horror of motherhood lies in the moments when she can see both the exquisiteness of her child and his utter inconsequence to others. There are so many boys in the world. From a distance they look alike even to her, especially in uniform.

We work in the realm of the impression.

I'm always happy," Sasha said. "Sometimes I just forget.

I don't want to fade away, I want to flame away - I want my death to be an attraction, a spectacle, a mystery. A work of art.

If I had a view like this to look down on every day, I would have the energy and inspiration to conquer the world. The trouble is, when you most need such a view, no one gives it to you.

The pause makes you think the song will end. And then the song isn't really over, so you're relieved. But then the song does actually end, because every song ends, obviously, and THAT. TIME. THE. END. IS. FOR. REAL.

Sure, everything is ending," Jules said, "but not yet.

Like all failed experiments, that one taught me something I didn't expect: one key ingredient of so-called experience is the delusional faith that it is unique and special, that those included in it are privileged and those excluded from it are missing out.

There's a fine line between thinking about somebody and thinking about not thinking about somebody, but I have the patience and the self-control to walk that line for hours - days, if I have to.

There are so many ways to go wrong. All we've got are metaphors, and they're never exactly right. You can never just Say. The. Thing.

Structural dissatisfaction: Returning to circumstances that once pleased you, after having experienced a more thrilling or opulent way of life, and finding that you can no longer tolerate them.

We stand there, quiet. My questions all seem wrong: How did you get so old? Was it all at once, in a day, or did you peter out bit by bit? When did you stop having parties? Did everyone else get old too, or was it just you? Are other people still here, hiding in the palm trees or holding their breath underwater? When did you last swim your laps? Do your bones hurt? Did you know this was coming and hide that you knew, or did it ambush you from behind?

Time's a goon, right? You gonna let that goon push you around?" Scotty shook his head. "The goon won.

I'm done. I'm old, I'm sad - that's on a good day. I want out of this mess. But I don't want to fade away, I want to flame away - I want my death to be an attraction, a spectacle, a mystery. A work of art.

Everybody sounds stoned, because they're e-mailing people the whole time they're talking to you.

I think, The world is actually huge. That's the part no one can really explain.

Her only thought was of getting away, as if she were carrying a live grenade from inside the house, so that when it exploded, it would destroy just herself.