Sublime

“basically an enormous eyeball floating around something, reporting what it sees.”

I imagine, in other words, that the notebook is about other people. But of course it is not. I have no real business with what one stranger said to another at the hatcheck counter in Pavillon; in fact I suspect that the line “That’s my old football number” touched not my own imagination at all, but merely some memory of something once read, probabl

I began to read the greats in essay writing—and it wasn’t their confessing voices I was responding to, it was their truth-speaking personae.

noblesse oblige,

ordinary people are really extraordinarily strange.

He views crime as a natural phenomenon, like a weather pattern, which comes and goes in streaks like seasons, and the serial killer as a pure “bad guy” whose habits are too dark and powerful to be conceived of:

Since almost every word Wolfe wrote was autobiographical, nearly all his characters based closely on real people, there had always been a risk of prosecution.

community and counted up the loot—a couple of kisses for Style, a couple of telephone numbers for me. The mood was giddy. We felt on the edge of something. “It’s really amazing, man,” Style said. “I can’t wait to see where all this leads.” He was so full of wide-eyed optimism in the power of pickup, in the benefits of self-improvement, in the belie

the concept