“...it occurred to me that perhaps in this city the crowd was essential to the individual; without it, he had nothing against which to scrape his anger, no echo for grief, and not the slightest proof that there were others… — Don DeLillo Copy Share Image
“If we isolate the stray thought, the passing thought," he said, "the thought whose origin is unfathomable, then we begin to understand that we are routinely deranged, everyday crazy.” — Don DeLillo Copy Share Image
“We all know how the thing we secretly fear is not a secret at all but the open and eternal thing that predicts its… — Don DeLillo Copy Share Image
Everything is barely weeks. Everything is days. We have minutes to live. — Don DeLillo Copy Share Image
The novel is the dream release, the suspension of reality that history needs to escape its own brutal confinements. — Don DeLillo Copy Share Image
“As I listened I thought a featureless baggy man was striking me in slow motion with a well-polished stone.” — Don DeLillo Copy Share Image
“Murray said, 'I don't trust anybody's nostalgia but my own. Nostalgia is a product of dissatisfaction and rage. It´s a settling of grievances between… — Don DeLillo Copy Share Image
“She is beginning to think it is possible that all creation is a spurt of blank matter that chances to make an emerald planet… — Don DeLillo Copy Share Image
“Those who have abandoned belief must still believe in us. They are sure that they are right not to believe but they know belief… — Don DeLillo Copy Share Image
“The plane had lost power in all three engines, dropped from thirty-four thousand feet to twelve thousand feet. Something like four miles. When the… — Don DeLillo Copy Share Image
“Grass: I live in a great steel tower that reflects the blazing sun. People catch fire just walking by. The more bodies that pile… — Don DeLillo Copy Share Image
“Marriage is something we make from available materials. In this sense it’s improvised, it’s almost offhand. Maybe this is why we know so little… — Don DeLillo Copy Share Image
The true life is not reducible to words spoken or written, not by anyone, ever. The true life takes place when we're alone, thinking,… — Don DeLillo Copy Share Image
