Most of the writers I know are weird hybrids. There’s a strong streak of egomania coupled with extreme shyness. Writing’s kind of like exhibitionism in private. And there’s also a strange loneliness, and a desire to have some kind of conversation with people, but not a real great ability to do it in person.

David Foster Wallace, 1996 (via sometimesagreatnotion)

animalstalkinginallcaps:

NO, RICK. HE’S NOT WORTH IT! RICK! CHILL OUT, OKAY? WE DON’T WANT ANY TROUBLE.

… JESUS, IT’S LIKE YOU’RE MADE OF MARBLE.

HOW OFTEN DO YOU WORK OUT?

RICK, I’M NOT GOING TO LIE, YOU ARE A TOTAL BEEFCAKE AND I’M WAY INTO IT.

IS THAT NEW COLOGNE?