“Patrick Bateman: I'm on a diet. Jean: What, you're kidding, right? You look great... so fit... and thin. Patrick Bateman: Well, you can always be thinner... look better. Jean: Then maybe we shouldn't go out to dinner. I wouldn't want you to lose your willpower. Patrick Bateman: That's okay. I'm not very good at controlling it anyway. Share this quote”

“...there is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there.”

“So…” Kimball looks at his book helplessly. “There’s nothing you can tell me about Paul Owen?” “Well.” I sigh. “He led what I suppose was an orderly life, I guess. “ Really stumped, I offer, “He...ate a balanced diet.”

“Got you. You're mine now. For the rest of the day, week, month, year, life. Have you guessed who I am? Sometimes I think you have. Sometimes when you're standing in a crowd I feel those sultry, dark eyes of yours stop on me. Are you too afraid to come up to me and let me know how you feel? I want to moan and writhe with you and I want to go up to you and kiss your mouth and pull you to me and say "I love you I love you I love you" while stripping. I want you so bad it stings. I want to kill the ugly girls that you're always with. Do you really like those boring, naive, coy, calculating girls or is it just for sex? The seeds of love have taken hold, and if we won't burn together, I'll burn alone.”

“but I don't want to wear a condom because I don't feel anything," and she says calmly... glaring at me,"If you don't use one you're not going to feel anything anyway.”

“Will you call me before Christmas?' she asks.Maybe.' I pull on my vest, wondering why I even came here in the first place.You've still got my number, don't you?' She reaches for a pad and begins to write it down.Yeah, Blair. I've got your number. I'll get in touch.'I button up my jeans and turn to leave.Clay?'Yeah, Blair.'If I don't see you before Christmas,' she stops. 'Have a good one.'I look at her a moment. 'Hey, you too.'She picks up the stuffed black cat and strokes its head.I step out the door and start to close it.Clay?' she whispers loudly.I stop but don't turn around.'Yeah?'Nothing.”

“The better you look, the more you see.”