Did you know I was born in a Holiday Inn.
There’s a moment of sheer terror when I discover Paul’s apartment overlooks the park.
Mi dolor es constante e intenso y no espero que haya un mundo mejor para nadie. De hecho quiero que mi dolor le sea inflingido a otros.
Bigfoot was interviewed on The Patty Winters Show this morning and to my shock I found him surprisingly articulate and charming.
I am a ghost to this man, I’m thinking. I am something unreal, something not quite tangible, yet still an obstacle of sorts and he nods, gets back on the phone, resumes speaking in a dialect totally alien to me.
Dwelling over this loss while wandering down Central Park West somewhere around Seventy-sixth, Seventy-fifth, it strikes me profoundly that the world is more often than not a bad and cruel place.
When Blair bites her lower lip she’s eighteen again.
I realize I have nothing to say to Trent Burroughs as I tell him, “I’ve been in New York the last four months.” New Age Christmas music fails to warm up the chilly vibe. I’m suddenly unsure about everything.
No one ever likes the right person.
Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do?
I’m really shocked when critics get morally outraged at my fiction because they think I’m condoning what’s going on. I never come in as the author and say, “Hey, okay. I’m interrupting the narrator here. I’m Bret Easton Ellis, and I’m the author.”
Why was I holding on to something that would never be mine? But isn’t that what people do?
Sex is mathematics. Individuality no longer an issue. What does intelligence signify? Define reason. Desire – meaningless. Intellect is not a cure. Justice is dead.
You don’t market-research a novel; you really are writing it for yourself. It’s a hobby, in many ways. The problem becomes what you do when you’re confronted by criticism. You just don’t listen to it.
But this was what happened when you didn’t want to visit and confront the past: the past starts visiting and confronting you.
The better you look, the more you see.
I like the idea of a writer being haunted by his own creation, especially if the writer resents the way the character defines him.
You really write the books you want to write. You can’t take into consideration anything that anybody has said about you in the past, or what they’ll say about you in the future.
Look how black the sky is, the writer said. I made it that way.
All of my books come from pain.