Don DeLillo
Don DeLillo
Donald Richard "Don" DeLillois an American novelist, playwright and essayist. His works have covered subjects as diverse as television, nuclear war, sports, the complexities of language, performance art, the Cold War, mathematics, the advent of the digital age, politics, economics, and global terrorism. Initially a well-regarded cult writer, the publication in 1985 of White Noise brought him widespread recognition. It was followed in 1988 by Libra, a bestseller. DeLillo has twice been a Pulitzer Prize for Fiction finalist), won the...
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth20 November 1936
CityBronx, NY
Why are homosexuals addicted to soap opera? Because our lives are a vivid situation.
If the world is where we hide from ourselves, what do we do when the world is no longer accessible? We invent a false name, invent a destiny, purchase a firearm through the mail.
I am not comfortable with abstract writing, stories that look like essays: you have to see, I need to see.
Technology is lust removed from nature.
Clouds are no deterrent. Clouds intensify the drama, trap and shape the light.
Your brain has a trillion neurons and every neuron has ten thousand little dendrites. The system of inter-communication is awe-inspiring.
I've always felt that my subject was living in dangerous times.
What terrorists gain, novelists lose.
Time is a corporate asset now. It belongs to the free market system. The present is harder to find... The future becomes insistent.
The genius of the primitive mind is that it can render human helplessness in noble and beautiful ways.
If an idea seems to find its way towards a stage setting, that's the direction I take. I don't know if I'm trying to achieve anything other than to follow an idea on to the page.
The novel is the dream release, the suspension of reality that history needs to escape its own brutal confinements.
Plot a murder, you're saying. But every plot is a murder in effect. To plot is to die, whether we know it or not.
There were moments when she wasn't talking so much as fading into time, dropping back into some funnelled stretch of recent past.