Quotes from Jess Walter

If you want to make art, go get a job at the Loov-rah.

He thought of Count Tolstoy's book and how, after the horrific, bloody battle of Borodino, the war just seemed to peter out, ending not in bravery but in retreat—exhaustion and the change of seasons having as much to do with the final Russian victory as any decisive action.

Here for business or pleasure, Mr. Wheeler? Redemption, Shane says.

Ideas are sphincters. Every asshole has one. Your take is what counts.

If I looked like you, Debra, I'd masturbate all the time

Other women were like presents he was constantly disappointed in unwrapping

Bir yazar yüceliÄŸe ulaÅŸmak için dört ÅŸeye ihtiyaç duyar Pasquale: Arzu, hüsran ve deniz." "Üç etti ama." Alvis ÅŸarab?n? bitirdi. "Hüsran? iki kere sayacaks?n.

Sometimes what we want to do and what we must do are not the same.

life was a glorious catastrophe.

Sometimes he would stare at a hand-sized place on her body, the notch above her hip, the curve of her calf, the groove at the back of her neck, and he worried about the loyalty of his hands, daydreamed about their betrayal.

How much money do we pay for an education that will allow us to loop our necktie the same way each morning, to be given a regular parking spot to park our BMW every day, to buy a summer home so that even our vacations become routine? We are drilled in this unending sameness in high school, and only the insane and the inspired ever get past it.

We live in a world of banal miracles.

All people, except this rich cream, living and scraping and fighting and dying, and for what, nothing, the cold millions with no chance in this world.

as if ye have faith and it shall be given to you.

Life, he thought, is a blatant act of imagination

Parenthood makes such sweet hypocrites of us all.

A writer needs four things to achieve greatness, Pasquale: desire, disappointment, and the sea.

Words and emotions are simple currencies. If we inflate them, they lose their value

And on and on it goes, in a thousand directions, everything occurring at once, in a great storm of the present, of now - all those lovely wrecked lives.

Spokane is old, and it is beautiful like old things are, lit from within by nostalgia and hard times.

But when the procreation board said she couldn't have a kid? I guess it was too much for her.

How can you not feel like a whole city of people waiting for it to finally be over, a whole city tending a parent's slow death?

Guterak looked over. "Hey, you got your hair cut." "Yeah." Remy put the cap back on. "What made you do that?" "I shot myself in the head last night." "Well." Paul drove quietly for a moment, staring straight ahead. "It looks good.

all we have is the story we tell. Everything we do, every decision we make, our strength, weakness, motivation, history, and character--what we believe--none of it is real; it's all part of the story we tell. But here's the thing: it's our goddamned story!