Shmuli Cohen > Shmuli's Quotes

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  • #1
    David Foster Wallace
    “Everybody is identical in their secret unspoken belief that way deep down they are different from everyone else.”
    David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

  • #2
    David Foster Wallace
    “I do things like get in a taxi and say, "The library, and step on it.”
    David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

  • #3
    David Foster Wallace
    “The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you.”
    David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

  • #4
    David Foster Wallace
    “Fiction is one of the few experiences where loneliness can be both confronted and relieved. Drugs, movies where stuff blows up, loud parties -- all these chase away loneliness by making me forget my name's Dave and I live in a one-by-one box of bone no other party can penetrate or know. Fiction, poetry, music, really deep serious sex, and, in various ways, religion -- these are the places (for me) where loneliness is countenanced, stared down, transfigured, treated.”
    David Foster Wallace

  • #5
    David Foster Wallace
    “Fiction’s about what it is to be a fucking human being.”
    David Foster Wallace

  • #6
    Danilo Kiš
    “Since childhood, I was afflicted with a sick hypersensitivity, and my imagination quickly turned everything into a memory, too quickly: sometimes one day was enough, or an interval of a few hours, or a routine change of place, for an everyday event with a lyrical value that I did not sense at the time, to become suddenly adorned with a radiant echo, the echo ordinarily reserved only for those memories which have been standing for many years in the powerful fixative of lyrical oblivion.”
    Danilo Kiš, Garden, Ashes

  • #7
    Henry Miller
    “A valise without straps. A hole without a key. She had a German mouth, French ears, Russian ass. Cunt international. When the flag waved it was red all the way back to the throat. You entered on the Boulevard Jules-Ferry and came out at the Porte de la Villette. You dropped
    your sweetbreads into the tumbrils – red tumbrils with two wheels, naturally. At the confluence of the Ourcq and Marne, where the water sluices through the dikes and lies like glass under the
    bridges.”
    Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer



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