Bret Easton Ellis
Bret Easton Ellis
Bret Easton Ellisis an American novelist, screenwriter, and short story writer. His works have been translated into 27 languages. He was at first regarded as one of the so-called literary Brat Pack, which also included Tama Janowitz and Jay McInerney. He is a self-proclaimed satirist, whose trademark technique, as a writer, is the expression of extreme acts and opinions in an affectless style. Ellis employs a technique of linking novels with common, recurring characters...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionAuthor
Date of Birth7 March 1964
CountryUnited States of America
Every book for me is an exorcism in some way or another, working through my feelings at the time.
It's the rare book that's able to transport you in a way that a movie does.
It's because you're always fighting sentiment. You're fighting sentimentality all of the time because being a mother alerts you in such a primal way.
If you come at movies with your own sense of morality and not your own sense of aesthetics, I think you're screwed. I think that's not a way to look at movies.
How could she ever understand that there isn't any way could be disappointed since I no longer find anything worth looking forward to?
I like the idea of a writer being haunted by his own creation, especially if the writer resents the way the character defines him.
but I don't want to wear a condom because I don't feel anything," and she says calmly... glaring at me,"If you don't use one you're not going to feel anything anyway.
... her taste in music haunted my memory and I had to stop at Tower Records on the Upper West Side to buy ninety dollars' worth of rap CDs but, as expected, I'm at a loss: [...] voices uttering ugly words like digit, pudding, chunk.
The images I had were of people being driven mad by living in the city. Images of parents who were so hungry and unfulfilled that they ate their own children.
So…” Kimball looks at his book helplessly. “There’s nothing you can tell me about Paul Owen?” “Well.” I sigh. “He led what I suppose was an orderly life, I guess. “ Really stumped, I offer, “He...ate a balanced diet.
The Smiths are singing and someone says "Turn that gay angst music off.
The seeds of love have taken hold and if we won't burn together, I'll burn alone.
When the going gets tough, the tough go drinking.
She sits before me, sullen but hopeful, characterless, about to dissolve into tears. I squeeze her hand back, moved, no, touched by her ignorance of evil. She has one more test to pass. Do you own a briefcase?” I ask her, swallowing.