Quotes from Bret Easton Ellis

Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do? My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape.

Don't tell me he was another serial killer, Bateman. Not another serial killer." "No, McDufus, he wasn't a serial killer

I think … you know how they say no two snowflakes are ever alike?" She nods. "Well, I don't think that's true. I think a lot of snowflakes are alike … and I think a lot of people are alike too.

The Patty Winters Show this morning was about people with half their brains removed. My chest feels like ice.

Talking animals were the topic of this morning's Patty Winters Show. An octopus was floating in a makeshift aquarium with a microphone attached to one of its tentacles and it kept asking - or so its trainer, who is positive that mollusks have vocal cords, assured us - for cheese. I watched, vaguely transfixed, until I started to sob.

It's really weird and I'm experiencing a spontaneous kind of internal sensation, I feel I'm moving toward as well as away from something, and anything is possible.

I say, staring at her, quite clearly but muffled by "Pump Up the Volume" and the crowd, "You are a fucking ugly bitch I want to stab to death and play around with your blood," but I'm smiling. I

i am a noncontingent human being

I stopped at the front desk, about to complain to the doorman, when I was confronted with a NEW doorman, my age but balding and homely and FAT. Three glazed jelly doughnuts AND two steaming cups of extra-dark HOT chocolate opened to the comics and it struck me that I was infinitely better-looking, more successful and richer than this poor bastard would ever be and so with a passing rush of sympathy I smiled and nodded a curt though not impolite good morning without lodging a complaint.

When I flush the toilet in my bathroom, it becomes stopped up with Kleenex, and blood clouds the water and I put down the lid, because there's nothing else for me to do.

This is my reality. Everything outside of this is like some movie I once saw.

Careless and not particularly biting, it was easier to shrug off than anything in the first book which depicted me as an inarticulate zombie confused by the irony of Randy Newman's I Love L.A.

I rerent Body Double because I want to watch it again tonight even though I know I won't have enough time to masturbate over the scene where the woman is getting drilled to death by a power drill since

I'm having a sort of hard time paying attention because my automated teller has started speaking to me, sometimes actually leaving weird messages on the screen, in green lettering, like "Cause a Terrible Scene at Sotheby's" or "Kill the President" or "Feed Me a Stray Cat," and I was freaked out by the park bench that followed me for six blocks last Monday evening and it too spoke to me. Disintegration—I'm taking it in stride.

The real Julian Wells didn't die in a cherry-red convertible, overdosing on a highway in Joshua Tree while a choir soared over the sound track.

There are some guys sitting at tables who all look at this one gorgeous girl, longingly, hoping for at least one dance or a blow job in Daddy's car and there are all these girls, looking indifferent or bored, smoking clove cigarettes, all of them or at least most of them staring at one blond-haired boy standing in the back with sunglasses on. Julian

Life is full of endless possibilities." I tried valiantly not to choke on the beer nuts I was chewing while she gushed this kidney stone of wisdom

Akthent on thee latht thyllable.

There's a moment of sheer panic when I discover Paul's apartment overlooks the park

She's doped up watching MTV and I want to watch the goddamn MacNeil/Lehrer report.

She's been drinking champagne kirs but has already had too many and when she orders her sixth I suggest that maybe she's had enough. She looks at me and says, I am cold and thirsty and I will order what I fucking want. I say, Then have an Evian or San Pellegrino for Christ sakes.

Cactus pear." "Cactus fruit," Evelyn corrects.

Hey," Price says. "I'm depressed, I mean impressed.

I was afraid to try Pellegrino for the first time." She looks over at me nervously—expecting me to… what, agree?—then at McDermott, who offers her a wan, tight smile. "But once I did, it was… fine.