“He knew time and day of week and wondered when such scraps of data would begin to feel disposable.”

“Everything is barely weeks. Everything is days. We have minutes to live.”

“When he died he would not end. The world would end.”

“A shrewd person would one day start a religion based on coincidence, if he hasn't already, and make a million.”

“Days like this. I look at you and feel electric. Tell me you don't feel it too.”

“I long for the days of disorder. I want them back, the days when I was alive on the earth, rippling in the quick of my skin, heedless and real. I was dumb-muscled and angry and real. This is what I long for, the breach of peace, the days of disarray when I walked real streets and did things slap-bang and felt angry and ready all the time, a danger to others and a distant mystery to myself.”

“It is so much simpler to bury reality than it is to dispose of dreams. ― Don DeLillo, Americana (ACTES SUD; 0 edition, August 10, 1993)”