Right after high school, Joe Goffman left sleepy Bush Falls, Connecticut and never looked back. Then he wrote a novel savaging everything in town, a novel that became a national bestseller and a huge hit movie. Fifteen years later, Joe is struggling to avoid the sophomore slump with his next... read more
Joe Goffman is a writer famous for his first and only novel. It is a scathing story of the small town, Bush Falls, where he grew up. In the novel, everyone is fare game. It is not an issue until Joe is called back, to Bush Falls, for a family emergency. During his visit, Joe finds out exactly... read more (warning: may contain spoilers)
Joe Goffman is a writer famous for his first and only novel. It is a scathing story of the small town, Bush Falls, where he grew up. In the novel, everyone is fare game. It is not an issue until Joe is called back, to Bush Falls, for a family emergency. During his visit, Joe finds out exactly what his former peers think of his novel.
“Things happen. Small things and large things and things just keep changing you, little by little, until there’s no trace of who you used to be. If I get lost, this journal will be like a record of who I was, a trail of bread crumbs to find my way back.”
Time doesn’t heal as much as it buries things in the undergrowth of your brain, where they lie in wait to ambush you when you least expect it.Highlighted by 133 Kindle customers
Everyone always wants to know how you can tell when it’s true love, and the answer is this: when the pain doesn’t fade and the scars don’t heal, and it’s too damned late.Highlighted by 124 Kindle customers
We start heading out across this canyon, looking straight ahead at the thing that matters, but something, some fear or insecurity, makes us look down. And we see we’re walking on air, and we panic, and turn around and scramble like hell to get back to solid ground. And if we just wouldn’t look down, we could make it to the other side. The place where things matter.”Highlighted by 88 Kindle customers
“It’s simple, really. We were doing what we wanted to do, instead of what we expected ourselves to do.”Highlighted by 63 Kindle customers
“I don’t know. Full of promise, full of dreams, full of shit. Mostly just full of yourself. So full you’re bursting. And then you get out into the world, and people empty you out, little by little, like air from a balloon.”Highlighted by 61 Kindle customers
To err, as they say, is human. To forgive is divine. To err by withholding your forgiveness until it’s too late is to become divinely fucked up.Highlighted by 45 Kindle customers
We make mistakes. They don’t make us. If they did, we’d all be royally fucked, especially a couple of assholes like us.”Highlighted by 44 Kindle customers
We had no Internet or grunge bands to dilute our innocence with irony, no glorified slackers or independent films to make darkness appealing. Happiness was still considered socially acceptable.Highlighted by 40 Kindle customers
I’m troubled by the notion that while I wasn’t looking, I seem to have become an asshole. This leads to a brief, syllogistic argument. The fact that I suspect I’m an asshole means I probably am not, because a real asshole doesn’t think he’s an asshole, does he? Therefore, by realizing that I’m an asshole, I am in fact negating that very realization, am I not? Descartes’s Asshole Axiom: I think I am; therefore, I’m not one.Highlighted by 37 Kindle customers
Loneliness doesn’t exist on any single plane of consciousness. It’s generally a low throb, barely audible, like the hum of a Mercedes engine in park, but every so often the demands of the highway call for a burst of acceleration, and the hum becomes a thunderous, elemental roar, and once again you’re reminded of what this baby’s carrying under the hood.Highlighted by 32 Kindle customers
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