Quotes from Bret Easton Ellis

Why was I holding on to something that would never be mine? But isn't that what people do?

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.

But this was what happened when you didn't want to visit and confront the past: the past starts visiting and confronting you.

And though the coldness I have always felt leaves me, the numbness doesn't and probably never will. this relationship will probably lead to nothing... this didn't change anything. I imagine her smelling clean, like tea...

My pain is constant and sharp...this confession has meant nothing

You learn to move on without the people you love.

No one will ever know anyone. We just have to deal with each other. You're not ever gonna know me.

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.

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?

Do you know what Ed Gein said about women? [...] 'When I see a pretty girl walking down the street I think two things. One part of me wants to take her out and talk to her and be real nice and sweet and treat her right.' I stop finish my J&B in one swallow. What does the other part of him think? Hamlin asks tentatively. What her head would look like on a stick

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.

But you don't need anything. You have everything,' I tell him. Rip looks at me. 'No I don't.' 'What?' 'No I don't.' There's a pause and then I ask, 'Oh, shit, Rip, What don't you have?' 'I don't have anything to loose.

Life is like a typographical error: we're constantly writing and rewriting things over each other.

I think a lot of snowflakes are alike...and I think a lot of people are alike too.

A curtain of stars, miles of them, are scattered, glowing, across the sky and their multitude humbles me, which I have a hard time tolerating. She shrugs and nods after I say something about forms of anxiety. It's as if her mind is having a hard time communicating with her mouth, as if she is searching for a rational analysis of who I am, which is, of course, an impossibility: there... is... no... key.

What else is there to do in college except drink beer or slit one's wrists?

I have all the characteristics of a human being: blood, flesh, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why. My nightly bloodlust has overflown into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip.

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.

And as things fell apart, nobody paid much attention

I've forgotten who I had lunch with earlier, and even more important, where.

She laughs and looks out the window and I think for a minute that she's going to start to cry. I'm standing by the door and I look over at the Elvis Costello poster, at his eyes, watching her, watching us, and I try to get her away from it, so I tell her to come over here, sit down, and she thinks I want to hug her or something and she comes over to me and puts her arms around my back and says something like 'I think we've all lost some sort of feeling.

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

Greed is good. Sex is easy. Youth is forever.