Jerrod Pinski > Jerrod's Quotes

“Old God sure was in a good mood when he made this place.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, The Rum Diary

“Why did I obsess over people like this? Was it normal to fixate on strangers in this particular vivid, fevered way? I didn’t think so. It was impossible to imagine some random passer-by on the street forming quite such an interest in me. And yet it was the main reason I’d gone in those houses with Tom: I was fascinated by strangers, wanted to know what food they ate and what dishes they ate it from, what movies they watched and what music they listened to, wanted to look under their beds and in their secret drawers and night tables and inside the pockets of their coats. Often I saw interesting-looking people on the street and thought about them restlessly for days, imagining their lives, making up stories about them on the subway or the crosstown bus.”
― Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch

“The old Amy, the girl of the big laugh and the easy ways, literally shed herself, a pile of skin and soul on the floor, and stepped this new, brittle, bitter Amy ... a razor-wire knot daring me to unloop her, and I was not up to the job with my thick, numb, nervous fingers. Country fingers. Flyover fingers untrained in the intricate, dangerous work of 'solving Amy'. When I'd hold up the bloody stumps, she'd sigh and turn to her secret mental notebooks on which she tallied all my deficiencies, forever noting disappointments, frailties, shortcomings.”
― Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

“Just each of us being me, me, me first. The murderer, the victim, the witness each of us thinks our role is the lead.
Probably that goes for anybody in the world.”
― Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters

“there’s nothing to
discuss
there’s nothing to
remember
there’s nothing to
forget

it’s sad
and
it’s not
sad

seems the
most sensible
thing
a person can
do
is
sit
with drink in
hand
as the walls
wave
their goodbye
smiles

one comes through
it
all
with a certain
amount of
efficiency and
bravery
then
leaves

some accept
the possibility of
God
to help them
get
through

others
take it
staight on

and to these

I drink
tonight.”
― Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense

“The best writers tend to look the roughest in photos. At least that's the excuse I use for why I look so bad in mine.”
― R.D. Ronald

“Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, BAGOMBO SNUFF BOX.

“But the heart has its own memory and I have forgotten nothing.”
― Albert Camus, The Fall

“The sea at the horizon was yet unchanged. It glittered blue and ageless, full of dancing points and nets of light in the late afternoon sun.”
― Richard Bachman, The Running Man

“The closet door is open for me, where I left it, since I left it open, it has graciously stayed open.”
― Allen Ginsberg, Howl and Other Poems

“Es vienkārši atklāju, ka šī pasaule ir pārlieku smaga, lai tajā būtu labs," saka Bannijs, tad aizver acis un, izpūtis elpu, sastingst.”
― Nick Cave, The Death of Bunny Munro

“Mira... Tú y yo somos iguales. Lo único es que tú te decoras de forma aterradora por fuera y yo me decoro de forma aterradora por dentro.”
― Dennis Cooper, Guide

“an event of such prodigious proportions and importance that it infused her with a new will to live and materialized a dream that brightened her days and soothed her lonely nights.”
― Hubert Selby Jr., Requiem for a Dream

“This girl, this girl, and he a man with a business and a secretary and a house with a furnace and bills and a son and a roof with three shingles and a pretty birdpath made of stone that I sometimes see Mrs.Shaw, her tied back with a scarf, cleaning with a dainty skimmer.
How does this man, a man like this, like any of them, come to walk at night and stand in a girl’s backyard, and then, smoking and looking up, suddenly feel himself helpless to bher bright magic?”
― megan abbott, The End of Everything

“I don't think I'm the type who falls in love. She was a friend. And we had good sex.”
― Stieg Larsson, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest

“It was as if that great rush of anger had washed me clean, emptied me of hope, and, gazing up at the dark sky spangled with its signs and stars, for the first time, the first, I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe.
To feel it so like myself, indeed, so brotherly, made me realize that I'd been happy, and that I was happy still. For all to be accomplished, for me to feel less lonely, all that remained to hope was that on the day of my execution there should be a huge crowd of spectators and that they should greet me with howls of execration.”
― Albert Camus, The Stranger

“If we really feared the crash, most of us would be unable to look at a car, let lone drive one.”
― JG Ballard

“He pauses, and I know he is about to lie. The worst feeling: when you just have to wait and prepare yourself for the lie.”
― Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

“Strange how things turn out. Two birds, one stone and all that.' McBlane chuckled at his own impromptu joke. 'But things have worked out for the best and now we all get to work together,' he said, and a smile spread across his face as easy as a politician's lie.”
― R.D. Ronald, The Elephant Tree

“Algunas veces no es grato ser bueno, pequeño 6655321. Ser bueno puede llegar a ser algo horrible. Y te lo digo sabiendo que quizá te parezca una afirmación muy contradictoria. Sé que esto me costará muchas noches de insomnio. ¿Qué quiere Dios? ¿El bien o que uno elija el camino del bien? Quizás el hombre que elige el mal es en cierto modo mejor que aquel a quien se le impone el bien. Son problemas profundos y difíciles,pequeño 6655321.”
― Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange

“Anything is grand if it's done on a large enough scale.”
― Donna Tartt, The Secret History

“Life is like a typographical error: we're constantly writing and rewriting things over each other.”
― Bret Easton Ellis

“A great writer is, so to speak, a second government in his country. And for that reason no regime has ever loved great writers, only minor ones.”
― Alexander Solzhenitsyn

“Because he knows you have to laugh at the things that hurt you just to keep yourself in balance, just to keep the world from running you plumb crazy.”
― Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest

“What else we know?
Nothing. That´s why we´re sitting together in this car now. Because we´re the same, and because we don´t know a damn thing other than that.”
― Paul Auster, The Book of Illusions

“La evocación tiene sobre la experiencia la ventaja de una riqueza y de una facilidad infinita pero aparta de la experiencia (esencialmente paralizada).

Sin la exuberancia de la evocación, la experiencia sería razonable. Comienza a partir de mi locura, si la impotencia de la evocación me asquea.

La poesía abre la noche al exceso del deseo. La noche que han dejado los estragos de la poesía es en mí la medida de un rechazo —de mi loca voluntad de desbordar el mundo—. También la poesía desbordaba ese mundo, pero no podía cambiarme.

Mi libertad ficticia aseguró ante todo que no destruía la ley de lo dado por la naturaleza. Si me hubiera conformado, me habría sometido con el tiempo a la dimensión de lo dado.”
― Georges Bataille, Lo arcangélico y otros poemas

“Photojournalism has frequently been lambasted for being the product of circumstance. In fact rarely are any of these images considered in terms of their composition and semantic intent. They are merely news, a happy intersection of event and opportunity. It hardly helps that photographs in general also take only a fraction of a second to acquire.

It is incredible how so many people can constantly misread speed to mean ease. This is certainly most common where photography is concerned. However simply because anyone can buy a camera, shutter away, and then with a slightly prejudiced eye justify the product does not validate the achievement. Shooting a target with a rifle is accomplished with similar speed and yet because the results are so objective no one suggests that marksmanship is easy.”
― Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves

“If you ask me what I want, I'll tell you. I want everything.”
― Kathy Acker

“She made one instinctive effort to resist and then yielded, slipping down on to the floor. Not a single word was exchanged. The act was silent and brutal”
― Émile Zola, Thérèse Raquin

“In Plaster

I shall never get out of this! There are two of me now:
This new absolutely white person and the old yellow one,
And the white person is certainly the superior one.
She doesn't need food, she is one of the real saints.

At the beginning I hated her, she had no personality --
She lay in bed with me like a dead body

And I was scared, because she was shaped just the way I was 


Only much whiter and unbreakable and with no complaints.
I couldn't sleep for a week, she was so cold.
I blamed her for everything, but she didn't answer.

I couldn't understand her stupid behavior!

When I hit her she held still, like a true pacifist.

Then I realized what she wanted was for me to love her:
She began to warm up, and I saw her advantages.



Without me, she wouldn't exist, so of course she was grateful.

I gave her a soul, I bloomed out of her as a rose

Blooms out of a vase of not very valuable porcelain,
And it was I who attracted everybody's attention,

Not her whiteness and beauty, as I had at first supposed.

I patronized her a little, and she lapped it up --

You could tell almost at once she had a slave mentality.



I didn't mind her waiting on me, and she adored it.

In the morning she woke me early, reflecting the sun

From her amazingly white torso, and I couldn't help but notice

Her tidiness and her calmness and her patience:
She humored my weakness like the best of nurses,

Holding my bones in place so they would mend properly.
In time our relationship grew more intense.



She stopped fitting me so closely and seemed offish.

I felt her criticizing me in spite of herself,

As if my habits offended her in some way.
She let in the drafts and became more and more absent-minded.

And my skin itched and flaked away in soft pieces

Simply because she looked after me so badly.
Then I saw what the trouble was: she thought she was immortal.

She wanted to leave me, she thought she was superior,

And I'd been keeping her in the dark, and she was resentful --
Wasting her days waiting on a half-corpse!

And secretly she began to hope I'd die.
Then she could cover my mouth and eyes, cover me entirely,

And wear my painted face the way a mummy-case
Wears the face of a pharaoh, though it's made of mud and water.



I wasn't in any position to get rid of her.
She'd supported me for so long I was quite limp --
I had forgotten how to walk or sit,
So I was careful not to upset her in any way

Or brag ahead of time how I'd avenge myself.
Living with her was like living with my own coffin:
Yet I still depended on her, though I did it regretfully.

I used to think we might make a go of it together --

After all, it was a kind of marriage, being so close.

Now I see it must be one or the other of us.
She may be a saint, and I may be ugly and hairy,

But she'll soon find out that that doesn't matter a bit.
I'm collecting my strength; one day I shall manage without her,

And she'll perish with emptiness then, and begin to miss me.

--written 26 Feburary 1961”
― Sylvia Plath, The Collected Poems