Quotes from David Foster Wallace

Today's person spends way more time in front of screens, in florescent lit rooms, in cubicles being on one end of the other of an electronic data transfer . . . What is it to be human and alive and exercise your humanity in that kind of exchange?

Prior to Y.P.W.c.'s Freedom of Speculation Act, credible sociohistorical data on the origins and evolution of Les Assassins des Fauteuils Rollents from obscure, adolescent, nihilistic Root Cult to one of the most feared cells in the annals of Canadian extremism was regrettably patchy and dependent on the hearsay of sources whose scholarly veracity was of an integrity somewhat less than unimpeachable.

I said I think I'm being followed.' 'Some men are born to lead, O.

I'll say God seems to have a kind of laid-back management style I'm not crazy about. I'm pretty much anti-death. God looks by all accounts to be pro-death. I'm not seeing how we can get together on this issue, he and I, Boo.

Drug addicts driven to crime to finance their drug addiction are not often inclined toward violent crime.

people outdoors here just scuttle in vectors from air conditioning to air conditioning. The sun is a hammer. I can feel one side of my face start to cook. The blue sky is glossy and fat with heat, a few thin cirri sheared to blown strands like hair at the rims.

Fuck the Albertans, Steeply said. Who's worried about the Albertans? The Albertans' idea of a blow to the U.S. plexus is they blow up rangeland in Montana. They're wackos.

The real, many-veiled answer to the question of just what goes through a great player's mind as he stands at the center of hostile crowd-noise and lines up the free-throw that will decide the game might well be: nothing at all.

Authors are monkeys who mean

jailhouse tatts always look like they were done by sadistic children on rainy afternoons.

Of a new-era'd nation that looked out for Uno, of a one-time World Policeman that was now going to retire and have its blue uniform deep-dry-cleaned and placed in storage in triple-thick plastic dry-cleaning bags and hang up its cuffs to spend some quality domestic time raking its lawn and cleaning its refrigerator and dandling its freshly bathed kids on its neatly pressed mufti-pants' knee.

Al parecer, hay personas profundamente temerosas de sus propias emociones, en especial de las dolorosas. Penas profundas, arrepentimientos, tristezas. En especial la tristeza, tal vez. Como si algo que se siente de verdad y por completo no tuviera fin ni fondo. Algo que podría volverse infinito y atraparlos.

It would take an architect who could hate enough to feel enough to love enough to perpetrate the kind of special cruelty only real lovers can inflict.

The next year had seen them drop into the crazy-obsessive love spiral in which they'd break up and then not be able to stay away from each other, until one time she was able to stay away, and that was all she wrote.

the being struck dumb. It's like some combination of invisibility and being buried alive, in terms of the feeling. It's like being strangled somewhere deeper inside you than your neck.

Gately's snapped to the fact that people of a certain age and level of like life-experience believe they're immortal: college students and alcoholics/addicts are the worst: they deep-down believe they're exempt from the laws of physics and statistics that ironly govern everybody else.

this was a couple years before the sudden advance of someone in the luggage industry realizing that suitcases could be fitted with little wheels and telescoping handles so they could be pulled, which was just the sort of abrupt ingenious advance that makes entrepreneurial capitalism such an exciting system—it gives people incentive to make things more efficient).

What renders a truth meaningful, worthwhile, & c. is its relevance, which in turn requires extraordinary discernment and sensitivity to context, questions of value, and overall point—otherwise we might as well all just be computers downloading raw data to one another.)

It never once occurs to him, though, that the reason he's so unhappy is that he's an asshole.

My Cousin, My Gastroenterologist will blow away your expectation of what late-model literature has to be. Unified by obsessions too eerie not to be real, this gorgeous rearrangement of our century's mental furniture is testimony to a new talent of Burroughs/Coover/Acker scale.

It is the key to modern life. If you are immune to boredom, there is literally nothing you cannot accomplish.

Joelle cuts off his interjection and says that but that her trouble with it is that 'But For the Grace of God' is a subjunctive, a counterfactual, she says and can make sense only when introducing a conditional clause, like e.g. 'But For the Grace of God I would have died on Molly Notkin's bathroom floor,' so that an indicative transposition like […] she says, literally senseless, and regardless of whether she hears it or not it's meaningless.

If you close your eyes on a busy urban sidewalk the sound of everybody's different footwear's footsteps all put together sounds like something getting chewed by something huge and tireless and patient.

actually just has a born tech-science wienie's congenital impatience with the referential murkiness and inelegance of verbal systems.