The primary function of memory is to fuck with your head.

When someone tells you ‘it is what it is’,
what they really mean is ‘fuck you.’

After his death many of his journal and notebook entries were found to have the notation “FE.” His final post, in its entirety, was “failed experiment.”

The warm cascade of neurotransmitters he received from making false promises dwarfed the inevitable damage to its recipients. That may even have been some of its appeal.

Self-involved, not entirely stupid, blind to your own deficiencies. You’ll do well.

He’d finally reached a minimum level of accommodation to his perception of reality.

Over the years, when I asked about other people’s work, he inevitably answered not so good. On a few rare occasions he said not so bad. I never dared ask about mine. I knew the answer.

Bring a little generosity when you look; you might be missing something.

Alone in his hotel room he wrote:
I am strong. I am unafraid.
He took a sip of his drink and added:
I am over it.
He sat back and looked at what he had written.
None of it was true.
But for the first time in years, he could imagine it.

Their language has been eradicated, but their food remains.

In her twenties she was pretty, by her thirties beautiful. And now, finally, she was as ugly as she’d always felt.

The manicured grounds masked an eroding social fabric.