The assumption that you everyone else is like you. That you are the world. The disease of consumer capitalism. The complacent solipsism.

You get to consciously decide what has meaning and what doesn't. You get to decide what to worship.

Do this: hate him for me after I die. I beg you. Dying request.

[I]f the writer does his job right, what he basically does is remind the reader of how smart the reader is.

God, what a ghastly enterprise to be in, though-and what an odd way to achieve success. I'm an exhibitionist who wants to hide, but is unsuccessful at hiding; therefore, somehow I succeed.

It's weird to feel like you miss someone you're not even sure you know.

She had a brainy girls discomfort about her own beauty and its effects on folks.