Quotes from Charles Yu

Is language all about desire? Is desire all about loss? Would we ever need to say anything if we never lost anything? Is everything we ever say just another way to express: I will lose this, I will lose all of this. I will lose you?

They'd lost the plot somewhere along the way, their once great romance spun into a period piece, into an immigrant family story, and then into a story about two people trying to get by.

Her love for him is not something that can be changed— it's physics, not emotion: It's the exact weight of radium. It is vast and it is exact. It is tender and finite and inexhaustible. Her love for him is a fact. Her love for him is a brutal fact about the world.

You live like this long enough, a life without chances, you lose your bearings. A life without danger. A life without the risk of Now. In any event, what do I need with Now? Now, I think, is overrated. Now hasn't been working out so great for me. Now never has.

I tell TAMMY it will be all right. She says what will be all right? I say whatever you are crying about. She says that is exactly what she's crying about. That everything is all right. That the world isn't ending. That we'll never tell each other how we really feel because everything is okay. Okay enough to just sit around, being okay.

When it happens, this is what happens: I shoot myself. Not, you know, my self self. I shoot my future self. He steps out of a time machine, introduces himself as Charles Yu. What else am I supposed to do? I kill him. I kill my own future.

Love from the abandoned heart of a nonexistent dog.

because the idea was you came here, your parents and their parents and their parents, and you always seem to have just arrived and yet never seem to have actually arrived. You're here, supposedly, in a new land full of opportunity, but somehow have gotten trapped in a pretend version of the old country.

Able to pass in any situation as may be required," she says. "I get it all. Brazilian, Filipina, Mediterranean, Eurasian. Or just a really tan White girl with exotic-looking eyes. Everywhere I go, people think I'm one of them. They want to claim me for their tribe.

She whispers to you: Let me do the talking. You nod, unsure why you're going along with her, oh yeah, you are probably in love with her already, that's why.

It's like all technology: either not powerful enough or too powerful. It will never do exactly what you want it to do.

Move forward, into the empty plane. Find the book you wrote, and read it until the end, but don't turn the last page yet, keep stalling, see how long you can keep expanding the infinitely expandable moment. Enjoy the elastic present, which can accommodate as little or as much as you want to put in there. Stretch it out, live inside of it.

People are dying and my generation just does not care. Including me. But I want to care. I really want to. I want to care so bad.

Worry was a box to live inside of, worry a mechanism for evading the present, for the re-creating the past, for dealing with the future.

Up the street a song cloud floats by, sagging a bit, but still intact. I walk faster and catch up with it just in time to hear the ending, a symphony orchestra, the sound full and resplendent, and it is one of those times, you know those times every so often when you hear the right piece of music at the right time, and it just makes you think.

Sadness was the driver, the motor of his invention, the engine of his creativity.

Time is a machine: it will convert your pain into experience. Raw data will be compiled, will be translated into a more comprehensible language. The individual events of your life will be transmuted into another substance called memory and in the mechanism something will be lost and you will never be able to reverse it, you will never again have the original moment back in its uncategorized, unprocessed state. It will force you to move on and you will not have a choice in the matter.

If you ever find yourself coming out of a time machine, run. Run away as fast you can. Don't stop. Don't try to talk. Nothing good can come out of it." narrator Charles Yu, not author Charles Yu p19

Working your way up the system doesn't mean you beat the system. It strengthens it. It's what the system depends on.

The red indicator light just came on. I'm looking at the run-time error report. It's like a mathematically precise way of saying, This is not how you do this, man . Meaning life, I suppose. It's computer for Hey, buddy, you are massively bungling this up . I know it. I know it better than anyone. I don't need silicon wafers with a slightly neurotic interface to tell me that.

If I could be half the person my dog is, I would be twice the human I am.

What are you looking for? Do you think you're the only group to be invisible? How about: Older women Older people in general People that are overweight People that don't conform to conventional Western beauty standards Black women Women in general in the workplace Are you sure you're not looking for something that you feel entitled to? Isn't this a kind of narcissism?

There are a few years where you make almost all of your important memories. And then you spend the next few decades reliving them.

All those stories about time travel, they were comforting, and at the same time it bothered me how they always made it seem fun and how everything fit into place, how things could only ever be how they were supposed to be, how the heroes found a way to change the world while still obeying the laws of physics.