The controversial novel about a handsome serial killer who moves among the young and trendy in 1980s New York.
Set in Manhattan and beginning on April Fools' Day 1989, American Psycho spans roughly three years in the life of wealthy young investment banker Patrick Bateman. Bateman, 26 years old when the story begins, narrates his everyday activities, from his daily life among the upper-class elite of... read more (warning: may contain spoilers)
“This is what I could understand, this was how I lived my life, what I constructed my movement around, how I dealt with the tangible. This was the geography around which my reality revolved it did not occur to me, ever, that people were good or that a man was capable of change or that the world could be a better place through one's taking pleasure in a feeling or a look or a gesture, or receiving another person's love or kindness. Nothing was affirmative, the term "generosity of spirit" applied to nothing, was a cliche, was some kind of bad joke. Sex is mathematics. Individuality no longer an issue. What does intelligence signify? Define reason. Desire -- meaningless. Intellect is not a cure. Justice is dead. Fear, recrimination, innocence, sympathizing, guilt, waste, failure, grief, were things, emotions, that no one really felt any more. Reflection is useless, the world is senseless. Evil is its only permanence. God is not alive. Love cannot be trusted. Surface, surface, surface was a”
“How could she ever understand that there isn't any way could be disappointed since I no longer find anything worth looking forward to?”
“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 you and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there.”
“" 'Hey asshole, I wanna watch you die, motherfuck-aaahhh,' and then I start screaming like a banshee, moving across Fifty-eigth, banging my Bottega Veneta briefcase against a wall."”
This is true: the world is better off with some people gone. Our lives are not all interconnected. That theory is a crock. Some people truly do not need to be here.Highlighted by 124 Kindle customers
… 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.Highlighted by 123 Kindle customers
There wasn’t a clear, identifiable emotion within me, except for greed and, possibly, total disgust. I had all the characteristics of a human being—flesh, blood, skin, hair—but my depersonalization was so intense, had gone so deep, that the normal ability to feel compassion had been eradicated, the victim of a slow, purposeful erasure. I was simply imitating reality, a rough resemblance of a human being, with only a dim corner of my mind functioning. Something horrible was happening and yet I couldn’t figure out why—I couldn’t put my finger on it.Highlighted by 122 Kindle customers
My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this—and I have, countless times, in just about every act I’ve committed—and coming face-to-face with these truths, there is no catharsis. I gain no deeper knowledge about myself, no new understanding can be extracted from my telling. There has been no reason for me to tell you any of this. This confession has meant nothing.…Highlighted by 101 Kindle customers
“Because,” I say, staring directly at her, “I … want … to … fit … in.”Highlighted by 97 Kindle customers
Reflection is useless, the world is senseless. Evil is its only permanence. God is not alive. Love cannot be trusted. Surface, surface, surface was all that anyone found meaning in … this was civilization as I saw it, colossal and jagged …Highlighted by 85 Kindle customers
I have no patience for revelations, for new beginnings, for events that take place beyond the realm of my immediate vision.Highlighted by 80 Kindle customers
And later my macabre joy sours and I’m weeping for myself, unable to find solace in any of this, crying out, sobbing “I just want to be loved,” cursing the earth and everything I have been taught: principles, distinctions, choices, morals, compromises, knowledge, unity, prayer—all of it was wrong, without any final purpose. All it came down to was: die or adapt.Highlighted by 74 Kindle customers
It’s not the seals I hate—it’s the audience’s enjoyment of them that bothers me.Highlighted by 69 Kindle customers
I missed the fucking sale, and dwelling over this loss while wandering down Central Park West somewhere around Seventy-sixth, Seventy-fifth, it strikes me profoundly that the world is more often than not a bad and cruel place.Highlighted by 67 Kindle customers
April Fools
Morning
Harry's
Pastels
Tunnel
Office
Health Club
Date
Dry Cleaners
Harry's
Deck Chairs
Business Meeting
Video Store then D'Agostino's
Facial
Date with Evelyn
Tuesday
Genesis
Lunch
Concert
A Glimpse of a Thursday Afternoon
Yale Club
Killing Dog
Girls
Shopping
Christmas Party
Nell's
Paul Owen
Paul Smith
Birthday, Brothers
Lunch with Bethany
Thursday
Whitney Houston
Dinner with Secretary
Detective
Summer
Girls
Confronted by Faggot
Killing Child at Zoo
Girls
Rat
Another Night
Girl
At Another New Restaurant
Tries to Cook and Eat Girl
Taking an Uzi to the Gym
Chase, Manhattan
Huey Lewis and the News
In Bed with Courtney
Smith & Wollensky
Something on Television
Sandstone
The Best City for Business
Working Out
End of the 1980s
Aspen
Valentine's Day
Bum on Fifth
New Club
Taxi Driver
At Harry's
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