Quotes About Confusion

he was forty bushels beyond bamboozled.

We now have immediate access to all possible facts. Which is almost the same as having none at all.

Like so many modern people, my relationship with technology makes no sense whatsoever: It's the most important aspect of my that I hate.

Dazed and Confused

It's hard for Americans to differentiate between talent and notoriety; TV confuses people.

The girl is infectious human waste, and she's confused and afraid to commit to the wrong thing and so she won't commit to anything.

It's pathetic how we can't live with the things we can't understand. How we need everything labeled and explained and deconstructed.

We've taken the world apart but we have no idea what to do with the pieces.

The truth is, wherever you choose to be, it's the wrong place.

You met me at a very strange time in my life.

The girl who lives in 8G used to be a lovely charming girl, but the girl is a monster bitch monster. The girl is infectious human waste, and she's confused and afraid to commit to the wrong thing so she won't commit to anything.

It's pathetic how we can't live with the things we can't understand. How we need everything labeled and explained and deconstructed.

I fainted....and you ate my ass? You fed me my own ass?

My stomach hurts, but if it's guilt or impacted stool, I can't tell. Either way, I'm so full of shit.

A house full of condiments and no real food. If you don't know what you want, you end up with a lot you don't.

You get a glass tank, put it where the TV used to be, and all you get is a lizard—something so stupid that every time the maid moves a rock the lizard thinks it's been relocated miles away.

When we don't know who to hate, we hate ourselves

We're the middle children of the history, no purpose or place, we have no Great war, no Great depression, our great war is a spiritual war, our great depression is our lives

And I say no. The problem is the light, the dim light down here. Cupped in the palm of my hand, the cyanide and the wood pill, I can't tell which is which. What's sex and what's death—I can't tell the difference. I ask which one to give her. And Mr. Bacardi leans in to look, both of us breathing hot, damp air into my open hand.

A woman calls from Seaview to say her linen closet is missing. Last September, her house had six bedrooms, two linen closets. She's sure of it. Now she's only got one. She comes to open her beach house for the summer. She drives out from the city with the kids and the nanny and the dog, and here they are with all heir luggage, and their towels are gone. Disappeared. Poof. Bermuda triangulated.

My hands are numb. I can't feel my face. My tongue be­longs to some­body else.

We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives.

When we don't know who to hate, we hate ourselves.

Picture time travel as nothing more than knocking your half-read book to the floor and losing your place. You pick up the book and open the pages to a scene too early or late, but never exactly where you'd been reading.