Once out of the mailroom, I began to learn more about fear. As soonas fear begins to ascend, anatomically, from the pit of the stomach to thethroat and brain, from fear of violence to the more nameless kind, youcome to believe you are part of a horrible experiment. I learned todistrust those superiors who encouraged independent thinking. When yougave it to them, they returned it in the form of terror, for they knewthat ideas, only that, could hasten their obsolescence. Management askedfor new ideas all the time; memos circulated down the echelons, requestingbold and challenging concepts. But I learned that new ideas could finishyou unless you wrapped them in a plastic bag. I learned that most of thesecretaries were more intelligent than most of the executives and that theexecutive secretaries were to be feared more than anyone. I learned whatclosed doors meant and that friendship was not negotiable currency and howimportant it was to lie even when there was no need to lie. Words andmeanings were at odds. Words did not say what was being said nor even itsreverse. I learned to speak a new language and soon mastered the specialelements of that tongue. Don DeLillo
Do you think we can be friends?” I asked. He stared up at the ceiling. “Probably not, but we can pretend.
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Priya Ardis
When I walk, I walk with you. Where I go, you're with me always.
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Alice Hoffman
...he had a way of taking your hand which made it clear he'd have to be the one to let go." From Alice Hoffman's "Local Girls", pg.102.
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Alice Hoffman
Vane grabbed me. “DuLac, let’s chat.” British-speak for “Stand still while I yell at you.
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Priya Ardis
So I learned two things that night, and the next day, from him: the perfection of a moment, and the fleeting nature of it.
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Margaret George
More Quotes By Don DeLillo
What we are reluctant to touch often seems the very fabric of our salvation.
It was only after two years' work that it occurred to me that I was a writer. I had no particular expectation that the novel would ever be published, because it was sort of a mess. It was only when I found myself writing things...
No sense of the irony of human experience, that we are the highest form of life on earth, and yet ineffably sad because we know what no other animal knows, that we must die.
I've got death inside me. It's just a question of whether or not I can outlive it.
The power of the dead is that we think they see us all the time. The dead have a presence. Is there a level of energy composed solely of the dead? They are also in the ground, of course, asleep and crumbling. Perhaps we are...
