The instant he knew he loved her, she slipped down his body and out of his arms.
Don DeLilloMots clés 2004
The true life is not reducible to words spoken or written, not by anyone, ever. The true life takes place when we're alone, thinking, feeling, lost in memory, dreamily self-aware, the submicroscopic moments. He said this more than once, Elster did, in more than one way. His life happened, he said, when he sat staring at a blank wall, thinking about dinner.
An eight-hundred page biography is nothing more than dead conjecture, he said. I almost believed him when he said such things. He said we do this all the time, all of us, we become ourselves beneath the running thoughts and dim images, wondering idly when we'll die. This is how we live and think whether we know it or not. These are the unsorted thoughts we have looking out the train window, small dull smears of meditative panic.
Talent is more erotic when it's wasted.
Don DeLilloYou have to break through the structure of your own stonework habit just to make yourself listen.
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She wanted this only, to snuff out the pulse of the shaky faith she'd held for much of her life.
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People in free societies don't have to fear the pathology of the state. We create our own frenzy, our own mass convulsions, driven by thinking machines that we have no final authority over. The frenzy is barely noticeable most of the time. It's simply how we live.
Don DeLilloThat which we fear to touch is often the very fabric of our salvation.
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Mirrors and images. Or sex and love. These are two separate systems that we miserably try to link.
Don DeLilloI don't want to do the type of writing where I recite biography, parentage and education. I want to rise up from the words on the page and do something, hurt someone.
Don DeLilloSome nights I need to be held. Tonight I'm a listener. So nice to lie in rumpled sheets and listen. Cover me with words.
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