Quotes from Mark Z. Danielewski

Les jeux sont faits. Nous sommes fucked.

Okay, you can be my slave. My flying kick nicks his nose. A warning. Worse if I weren't succumbing to squeal. What a feel. I'm too multiple to feel. A fork ahead. I take both.

In that peculiar contradiction that serves as connective tissue in so many relationships, it is possible to see that she loves Navidson almost as much as she has no room for him.

When Unguarded Thoughts Returned Over Breakfast --He needs to eat and so opens the fridge to retrieve along with bread a brick of butter. --[illegible], Paris. July 26, 1988

Let the cold water run. It's gotta warm up eventually. Right?

motionless, finally, after how many hours, how many days, at a loss where to go. All directions leading to the same place anyway. Its own end.

He is a stem, a husk, barren and thin, withered by sun, erased by wind, emptied by seasons of dullness, marked by seconds of duty, scarred by regret only the faintest of lines dare to write out, which no one, not even him, can interpret anymore. People have told him a crow will reveal more than anything his face has to share.

Assez bizarrement, donc, le meilleur argument en faveur de l'authenticité est le coût absolument inabordable de la fiction. Il semblerait donc que le spectre qui hante Navidson Record et ne cesse de se ruer contre la porte, soit tout simplement la menace récurrente de sa propre réalité.

there's no second ive lived you can't call your own

Find a sky so full of stars it will blind you again

It is understood that the world does not want to be understood. The world would not be this world if it did.

The ripe earth yawns daily to swallow me. Love's love in her blackest season

It's a nice idea but it reeks of hope. False hope.

missing the most obvious fact of all that what I hoped to lock out I've only locked in here with me.

for where else could we have really gone?

I looked at my hands. I was holding onto the steering wheel so tightly, all my knuckles where shiny points of white, and my blinker was on, CLICK-click CLICK-click CLICK-click, so certain, so plain, so clear, and yet for all its mechanical conviction, blinking me in the wrong direction.

An echo, while implying an enormity of a space, at the same time also defines it, limits it, and even temporarily inhabits it.

Maturity, one discovers, has everything to do with the acceptance of 'not knowing'. Of course, not knowing hardly prevents the approaching chaos.

Was that the definition of the future? Not even striving to know itself like the present might

Les gens veulent toujours des experts, mais parfois ils ont la chance de tomber sur un débutant.

And so now, in the shadow of unspoken events, I watch Zampanò's courtyard darken. Everything whimsical has left. I try to study the light-going carefully. From my room. In the glass of memory. In the moonstream of my imagination. The weeds, the windows, every bench. But the old man is not there, and the cats are all gone. Something else has taken their place. Something I am unable to see. Waiting. I'm afraid. It is hungry. It is immortal. Worse, it knows nothing of whim.

Please forgive me for thinking faith means certainty.

Physics depends on a universe infinitely centred on an equal sign. As science writer and sometime theologian David Conte wrote: 'God for all intents and purposes is an equal sign, and at least until now, something humanity has always been able to believe in is that the universe always adds up.

How much [vastly {immensely (unfathomably) tremendously}...] Anwar loves [t]his child. It continues to take him by surprise [even when she confounds him with the havoc of her room {for example} which she will proudly describe {defend!} as clean {those beautiful messes (beautiful even today)} even as {in the next moment} she will astonish Anwar with her fearless interest in life {despite the harrowing blows life continues to deliver her (and so delivers to Anwar...)}].