Bokelskere.no

Earlier that week, Christmas Day to be precise, I'd finished Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates, which is a totally awesome novel. I was actually going to jump with a copy, not only because it would have been kind of cool and would have added a bit of mystique to my death, but because it might have been a good way to get more people to read it. But the way things worked out, I didn't have much preparation time, and I left it at home.

Når noen sier 'det forpulte jævla drittordet' og du straks vet at det er et synonym for 'metaforisk', er det på tide å vurdere om du kjenner vedkommende for godt. Det er faktisk på tide å vurdere om du ønsker å kjenne henne overhodet.

Hva er vi mennesker i stand til å lære, dessuten, bortsett fra timetabeller og navnet på spanske statsministre?

And what I'd done is, I'd pissed my life away. Literally. Well, OK, not literally literally. I hadn't, you know, turned my life into urine and stored it in my bladder and so on and so forth.

Wanting to kill myself was an appropriate and reasonable response to a whole series of unfortunate events that had rendered life unlivable.

you see? ex-wives: really, everybody should have at least one.