delillo don

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I’m really into this essay I’m working on about the deliberate ambiguity of the boundaries between ‘non-fiction’ and ‘fiction’ narratives within postmodern literature. I’m not doing a traditional dissertation but if I was I think I would do it on this. 

I opened my eyes sometime before first light and the dream was still there, hovering, nearly touchable. We can’t do justice to our dreams, reworking them in memory. They seem borrowed, part of another life, ours only maybe and only in the farthest margins.
—  Don DeLillo, Hammer and Sickle
How strange it is. We have these deep terrible lingering fears about ourselves and the people we love. Yet we walk around, talk to people, eat and drink. We manage to function. The feelings are deep and real. Shouldn’t they paralyze us? How is it we can survive them, at least for a little while? We drive a car, we teach a class. How is it no one sees how deeply afraid we were, last night, this morning? Is it something we all hide from each other, by mutual consent? Or do we share the same secret without knowing it? Wear the same disguise?
—  Don DeLillo
Il sesso è qualcosa che puoi avere. Per alcune persone, per la maggior parte delle persone, è la cosa più importante che possono avere senza essere nati ricchi o intelligenti e senza dover rubare. E’ ciò che la vita può darti nella stessa misura in cui lo concede ad altri, se non addirittura in misura maggiore. Una cosa che puoi avere senza dover andare al college per sei anni. E poi, non è né una religione né una scienza, ma si può esplorarlo e imparare molto su se stessi.
—  Don DeLillo - “Underworld”
I tell her I want to die first. I am so used to her that I would feel terribly incomplete. We are two pictures of the same person. I would spend the rest of my life turning to speak to her. And there, no one, a void in space and time. She claims my death would leave a bigger hole in her life than her death in mine. This is the level of our talks.
—  “White noise”, Don DeLillo

Don DeLillo - Cosmopolis


“He stood in the street. There was nothing to do. He hadn’t realized this could happen to him. The moment was empty of urgency and purpose. He hadn’t planned on this. Where was the life he’d always led? There was nowhere he wanted to go, nothing to think about, no one waiting. How could he take a step in any direction if all directions were the same?”