Infinite Jest

Here is one of the great Wallace innovations: the revelatory power of freakishly thorough noticing, of corralling and controlling detail.

But Wallace does something weirder, something more astounding: even when you’re not reading him, he trains you to study the real world through the lens of his prose.

The wraith pushes his glasses up in the vaguely snivelling way of a kid that’s just got slapped around on the playground and says he personally spent the vast bulk of his own former animate life as pretty much a figurant, furniture at the periphery of the very eyes closest to him, it turned out, and that it’s one heck of a crummy way to try to live

young

garage several blocks away, and had run back and drawn the clean blinds and curtains,

My posture is consciously congruent to the shape of my hard chair.

enfilade

pleurisy

I believe the influence of Kierkegaard on Camus is underestimated. I believe Dennis Gabor may very well have been the Antichrist. I believe Hobbes is just Rousseau in a dark mirror. I believe, with Hegel, that transcendence is absorption.