Quotes from Bret Easton Ellis

and just as the table is about to finally ignore him, to look away and start eating, he sits up and loudly says, pointing an accusing finger at his plate, "It moved!" Timothy glares at him with a contempt so total that I can't fully equal it but I muster enough energy to come close.

I suddenly thought again: as a writer, you're always hearing things that aren't there.

Who Dunnit?' profoundly expresses the theme of confusion against a funky groove, and what makes this song so exciting is that it ends with its narrator never finding anything out at all.

when you were young and your heart was an open book you used to say live and let live.

Mi dolor es constante e intenso y no espero que haya un mundo mejor para nadie. De hecho quiero que mi dolor le sea inflingido a otros.

she is searching for a rational analysis of who I am, which is, of course, an impossibility: there … is … no … key.

Lover? se asks, her voice reminding me of someone human.

La vida es como una errata tipográfica: constantemente estamos escribiendo y reescribiendo las cosas

and like in a movie I appear in front of the D'Agostino's, sale's clerks beckoning for me to enter, and I'm using an expired coupon for a box of oat-bran cereal and the girl at the checkout counter--black, dumb,slow-- doesn't get it, doesn't notice the expiration date has passed even though it's the only thing I buy, and I get a small but incendiary thrill when I walk out of the store, opening the box, stuffing handfuls of the cereal into my mouth, trying to whistle Hips to Be Square.

The fact that....you categorize everything as either sexist, or racist, or homophobic, whether it is or not, and therefore harmful to you and you just can't take it, is a kind of mania, a delusion, a psychosis that we have been coddling, encouraging people to think that life should be a smooth utopia built only for them and their fragile sensibility.

my mind reeling with the concept that a human being, a man, could feel pride over sodomizing another man

it did not occur to me, ever, that people were good or that a man was capable of change or that the world could be a better place through one's taking pleasure in a feeling or a look or a gesture, of receiving another person's love or kindness. Nothing was affirmative, the term "generosity of spirit" applied to nothing, was a cliché, was some kind of bad joke.

Some people at the party, she adds, are freaks, then mentions a drug I've never heard of, and tells me a story that involves ski masks, zombies, a van, chains, a secret community, and asks me about a Hispanic girl who disappeared in some desert.

It's hard to feel sorry for someone who doesn't care. Yeah? I ask. What do you care about? What makes you happy? Nothing. Nothing make me happy. I like nothing.

Why not end up with her? floats into my line of vision. An answer: she has a better body than most other girls I know. Another one: everyone is interchangeable anyway.

Patrick is not a cynic, Timothy. He's the boy next door, aren't you honey?" "No I'm not," I whisper to myself. "I'm a fucking evil psychopath.

Patrick," she says slowly. "If you're so uptight about work, why don't you just quit? You don't have to work." "Because," I say, staring directly at her, "I … want … to … fit … in.

The book was blunt and had an honesty about it, whereas the movie was just a beautiful lie.

Courtney," I warn, getting furious, "if you just said what I think you said: that your lithium is in a carton in the freezer next to the Frusen Glädjé and is a sorbet"—I'm screaming this—"if this is really what you said then I will kill you. Is it a sorbet? Is your lithium really a sorbet?

This is laid down with a groove funkier and blacker than anything Prince of Michael Jackson--or any other black artist of the recent years for that matter--has come up with.

Well, I'm sorry. I smile. I'm having problems.

When Blair bites her lower lip she's eighteen again.

If you cannot read Shakespeare, or Melville, or Toni Morrison because it will trigger something traumatic in you, and you'll be harmed by the read of the text because you are still defining yourself through your self-victimization, then you need to see a doctor.

Tim glances over at me and I avert my gaze and an imagined sense of imposed peace washes calmly over the two of us, answering my question.