I Have To Return Some Videotapes

But This Road Doesn't Go Anywhere,” I Told Him. “that Doesn't Matter.” “what Does?” I Asked, After A Little While. “just That We're On It, Dude,” He Said.

There’s No Use In Denying It: This Has Been A Bad Week. I’ve Started Drinking My Own Urine.

...there Is An Idea Of A Patrick Bateman, Some Kind Of Abstraction, But There Is No Real Me, Only An Entity, Something Illusory, And Though I Can Hide My Cold Gaze And You Can Shake My Hand And Feel Flesh Gripping Yours And Maybe You Can Even Sense Our Lifestyles Are Probably Comparable: I Simply Am Not There.

I'm Really Shocked When Critics Get Morally Outraged At My Fiction Because They Think I'm Condoning What's Going On. I Never Come In As The Author And Say, "hey, Okay. I'm Interrupting The Narrator Here. I'm Bret Easton Ellis, And I'm The Author."

We Buy Balloons, We Let Them Go.