Postcards From The Edge Quotes

Karl Marx: "Religion is the opiate of the masses." Carrie Fisher: "I did masses of opiates religiously.

I shot through my twenties like a luminous thread through a dark needle, blazing toward my destination: Nowhere.

What worries me is, what if this guy is really the one for me and I just haven't had enough therapy yet for me to be comfortable with having found him.

Actually, I am a failed anorexic. I have anorexic thinking, but I can't seem to muster the behavoir

You know how I always seem to be struggling, even when the situation doesn't call for it?

Life is a cruel, horrible joke and I am the punch line.

Look,' he said, 'I don't think we should continue this discussion. I don't like this side of you.' 'I'm not a box,' she said 'I don't have sides. This is it. One side fits all. This is it.

From here on out, there's just reality. I think that's what maturity is: a stoic response to endless reality. But then, what do I know?

I envy people who have the capacity to sit with another human being and find them endlessly interesting, I would rather watch TV. Of course this becomes eventually known to the other person.

The only thing worse than being hurt is everyone knowing that you're hurt.

I rarely cry. I save my feelings up inside me like I have something more specific in mind for them. I am waiting for the exact perfect situation and then BOOM! I'll explode in a light show of feeling and emotion - a pinata stuffed with tender nuances and pent-up passions

My inner world seems largely to consist of three rotating emotions: embarrassment, rage, and tension. Sometimes I feel excited, but I think that's just positive tension.

Guys are great before you know who they are,' said Lucy. 'They're great when you're still with who they might be.

She wanted so to be tranquil, to be someone who took walks in the late-afternoon sun, listening to the birds and crickets and feeling the whole world breathe. Instead, she lived in her head like a madwoman locked in a tower, hearing the wind howling through her hair and waiting for someone to come and rescue her from feeling things so deeply that her bones burned.

We live in America,' he said. 'Everyone who speaks English understands you. How they interpret you is something else.

There are two things that I know for certain guys are good for: pushing swings and killing insects.

Don't you see? We've become smart enough to justify stupid behavior. Like, 'I'm angry at him and I didn't express it, so I turned my anger inward and now it's depression, so in order to feel good again, what I should do is call him and express my anger.' It's like, if we can make it sound smart enough, we're allowed to do stupid things.

My life is like a lone, forgotten Q-Tip in the second-to-last drawer.

Mom brought me some peanut butter cookies and a biography of Judy Garland. She told me she thought my problem was that I was too impatient, my fuse was too short, that I was only interested in instant gratification. I said, “Instant gratification takes too long.” The glib martyr.

That's the way it works in movies. Something happens that has an impact on someone's life, and based on that impact, his life shifts course. Well, that's not how it happens in life. Something has an impact on you, and then your life stays the same, and you think, 'Well, what about the impact?' You have epiphanies all the time. They just don't have any effect.

The thing about having it all is, it should include having the ability to have it all. Maybe there are some people who know how to have it all. They're probably off in a group somewhere, laughing at those of us who have it all but don't know how to.

I said, “Instant gratification takes too long.” The glib martyr.

Never let 'em see you ache. That's what Mr. Mayer used to say. Or was it ass? Never let 'em see your ass.

...one of those unfortunate women who did not find nice men interesting. She found undesirables desirable. She sought out unpleasant boyfriends, then complained about them as though the government had allocated them to her.

My heart's in the right place. I know, cuz I hid it there.

Sometimes I'm afraid I'm happy, but because I expect it to be something else, I question the experience. So now, when in doubt," she shrugged with true bravado, "I'll assume I'm happy.

I may not take cristicism well, but that doesn't mean I'm not hearing it. I'll hear it later. Right now I'm storing it in my delayed response area, because it's hard for me. I wish I was someone who welcomed cristicism and immediately understood its valeu, but I'm not, and if I look unhappy about this, I am.

I don't think you ever get to relax. I mean, sure there's a couple of people who could, but I bet they don't. Because by the time they get to where they could relax, they don't. Because by the time they get to where they could relax, they've gotten completely used to not being able to. How do you just suddenly become somebody who relaxes? The kind of ambition you need to get to that place is not relaxing. It's searing. I think there's probably something about living your whole life in a popularity contest -- trying to get people to like you who you couldn't give a flying fuck about -- that kills relaxation.

Remember what it was like when you’d be getting ready to jump rope... two people were turning it, and you were waiting for exactly the right moment to jump in? I feel like that all the time.

I narrate a life I'm reluctant to live.

Maybe I shouldn’t have given the guy who pumped my stomach my phone number, but who cares? My life is over anyway.

Why do so many Americans say they want their children to watch less TV, yet continue to expand the opportunities for them to watch it? More important, why do so many people no longer consider the physical world worth watching? The highway's edges may not be postcard perfect. But for a century, children's early understanding of how cities and nature fit together was gained from the backseat: the empty farmhouse at the edge of the subdivision; the variety of architecture, here and there; the woods and fields and water beyond the seamy edges--all that was and still is available to the eye. This was the landscape that we watched as children. It was our drive-by movie.

My want can only do so much in terms of changing what's actually occuring with other people, and I'd like to keep it that way. I don't want to feel that if I had wanted something more, or had said one other thing, or had worn a different dress, or had been more mysterious, or more open, then I would get something or someone I wouldn't get otherwise.

I told him about the Oedipal thing, about my father leaving when I was very young so I knew how to pine for men, but not how to love them. So he said, 'You'd probably would have been perfect for somebody in World War Two. You'd meet him and then he would get shipped overseas.' And I said, 'Maybe on our date I could drop you off and you could enlist,' and he said he would just got out and rent a uniform. So he was very funny.

Our dreams: Could they be postcards from the edge of existence? And what if we were able to bring back a souvenir? Or, more troubling, pick up a hitchhiker?

Her other boyfriend before me was a druggie, too. I don't mean... he was a druggie. I like drugs, but he was a druggie . It's like she just goes out with people who take drugs so she can pick on them. Joan of Narc, patron saint of the addict. - Alex

In the last few years I've become an accepted eccentric at best, and a fuckup at worst. I feel like I'll let people down if I take away the behavior they've grown accustomed to disapproving of. They try to discipline me, I refuse to be disciplined. They object, I'm objectionable. We all know exactly what to do.

How they treat you is not necessarily who you are.

I make a great memory

She liked going to the gym, or rather, she liked having been to the gym, and the only way to have been was to go.

I feel like what I look like is government issue, it's pretty much out of my hands. But I invent the stuff I say. That's me.

The only thing worst than being hurt is everyone knowing that you're hurt.

You must think I'm very inconsiderate for not acknowledging your first letter sooner, but I've just moved to a new house, I'm rehearsing a play, my grandfather died, and I'm inconsiderate.

I'm feasting on a banquet of crumbs.

That's why the sweetness of the sexual contact is perfect, but it can only be a dissappointment.

He told her what was happening in the world that he belonged to and she visited.

But all I can see is the light glinting off the edges of the interesting ones.

She wondered if she was in the midst of an anecdote that, for reasons of proximity, she was not yet able to perceive.

I was into pain reduction and mind expansion, but what I’ve ended up with is pain expansion and mind reduction. Everything hurts now, and nothing makes sense. DAY

It seems like I want them to like me for my mind, anyway, " she said, " so why not let them go straight for it? Why get them to like my legs? It doesn't seem like that's me. I feel like what I look like is government issue, it's pretty much out of my hands. But I invent the stuff I say. That's me.

No. She'd already canceled and rescheduled this lunch three times. She had to go. "Oh, well, maybe I'll learn something," she thought philosophically as she handed her keys to the valet. She imagined herself smoking serenely on a pipe and gazing off to sea and saying, "Well, yeah, sure, he was an asshole, but he wasn't your typical asshole. I really learned something that day at the Hamburger Hamlet. [...] "You're not blond," Al Hawkins said, fixing her with his intense glare. "No, I never was," said Suzanne. "Well, you've never been blond in any of your films, but..." Al Shrugged. "I know a lot of girls who, after a while, just... go blond." "Spontaneously?" asked Suzanne. "No, they decide to do it after... Oh, I see. A joke." Al smiled. "Shall we order?

Suzanne decided she didn't want a personal manager, and she certainly didn't want one that got this personal. People she had known for years didn't call her "naive". She felt defeated. She didn't seem to want to be anything badly enough to do what was required. She knew a lot of the right people, but she didn't know them in the right way. Something about pushing your way to the front seemed so undignified. She liked acting, all right. She just didn't like a lot of what you had to do in order to to be allowed to act: the readings, the videotapings, the meetings, the criticism, the rejections. She was too old, too young, too pretty, too short, not funny enough, too funny... It could wear you down after a while. After a while, it became a job in itself not to take these pronouncements personally.

No. She'd already canceled and rescheduled this lunch three times. She had to go. "Oh, well, maybe I'll learn something," she thought philosophically as she handed her keys to the valet. She imagined herself smoking serenely on a pipe and gazing off to sea and saying, "Well, yeah, sure, he was an asshole, but he wasn't your typical asshole. I really learned something that day at the Hamburger Hamlet. [...] "You're not blond," Al Hawkins said, fixing her with his intense glare. "No, I never was," said Suzanne. "Well, you've never been blond in any of your films, but..." Al Shrugged. "I know a lot of girls who, after a while, just... go blond." "Spontaneously?" asked Suzanne. "No, they decide to do it after... Oh, I see. A joke." Al smiled. "Shall we order?” [...] She wondered if she was in the midst of an anecdote that, for reasons of proximity, she was not yet able to perceive.

I talked to my agent today. He thinks maybe I should do a television series. I would like to do something where I have to work all the time. Keep my mind off my mind, as it were. Get up real early in the morning, act like someone else all day, and fall asleep at night. A perfect job for me. The fix that doesn’t.

A man with a beard - Suzanne guessed he was an assistant director - came toward her, speaking into a walktie-talkie. “Yep, she just got here,” he said. “I’ll show her to her trailer.” He smiled at her. “I’m Ted,” he said, “designed to make your life a more annoying place to be.” Suzanne smiled back, bowed her wet head, and said, “Suzanne, designed to be annoyed.” Ted laughed. “The we ought to get along great.

A man with a beard - Suzanne guessed he was an assistant director - came toward her, speaking into a walktie-talkie. “Yep, she just got here,” he said. “I’ll show her to her trailer.” He smiled at her. “I’m Ted,” he said, “designed to make your life a more annoying place to be.” Suzanne smiled back, bowed her wet head, and said, “Suzanne, designed to be annoyed.” Ted laughed. “Then we ought to get along great.

Roger looked at Suzanne. “Early, isn’t it?” he said maternally. “It’s so early it’s late,” she said somberly. “That’s cute,” Roger laughed. “Did you just make that up?” “I don’t know,” said Suzanne. “I should know later.” “Listen to her!” Roger called over to Marilyn. “We’re going to have a ball!” Suzanne smiled. […] Roger raised the dryer like a friendly gun, pointed it at Suzanne’s head, and said, “Bang bang, you’re dry.” Suzanne searched her mind for an appropriate rejoinder. When none turned up, she simply sat grinning inanely at Roger in the mirror, the silence burning through her.

While she'd been drying her hair, she'd come up with a new message for her answering machine - "I'm out, deliberately avoiding your call" - and that simple burst of creativity had raised her spirits a bit.

It seems like I want them to like me for my mind, anyway," she said, "so why not let them go straight for it? Why get them to like my legs? It doesn't seem like that's me. I feel like what I look like is government issue, it's pretty much out of my hands. But I invent the stuff I say. That's me.

Did you ever think maybe you’d just stay, ride it out, see what happened? Was that an option for you?” He didn’t ask defensively, though it took a bit to keep the edge from his voice. He was all but grilling her so he couldn’t go and get upset if he didn’t like the answers he got. But he was human, and this wasn’t any easier on him than it was on her. “It might have been.” “If?” He heard her take a steadying breath and felt himself bracing for her response. “If I’d felt about you the way I felt about the rest of your family. Like you were a brother or something.” “But?” “Looking for a little ego stroke?” She swatted at him then, tried for a playful laugh, but the serious undertone remained. “But I had feelings for you. Well, lust and feelings. We had a friendship, then I had lust. And I really didn’t think, even if you were interested in me, that was something you’d pursue, given your position as employer and me being temporary. So…I don’t know…” “But when you came back here to Maine you didn’t head out again.” “I didn’t go back to Australia either,” she reminded him. When he didn’t say anything for some time, she said, “What are you thinking? I’ve been pretty frank so go ahead, be honest with me.” “Okay,” he said. “I guess I can’t help but think that you didn’t head back out on the road, you didn’t come back to Australia either--but you also didn’t write, keep in touch. And not because you were out in the jungle somewhere, unable to drop a postcard in the mail. You were right here, with all the modern technological conveniences at your fingertips. But you didn’t send a single e-mail. Not even to Sadie. And I can’t help but think that maybe that means we were all a lot more important to you than you wanted to admit or keeping in touch, at least with her, would have been no big deal. You also haven’t even mentioned us to anyone here, as far as I know, other than your uncle. Which, given how long you stayed and how much we’d come to mean to you, seems odd to me, too. So…maybe the only way you thought you could get over us was to put us firmly in your rearview mirror. Only then…you never started looking ahead again either.” She said nothing, and a quick glance showed she was staring out the side window of the car, her hands in her lap, fingers twisting and untwisting. “Or maybe we really were easily left in the past, and the change in you is more because you got home and your entire family was living here, all together, for the first time in your adult life,” he said, giving her an out. “And it makes you want to stay, even though you don’t know what, precisely, you want to do here yourself.” He paused, then said the rest of what he was thinking, what he was feeling. “And maybe you stay because it’s the closest thing you can have to what you had started building with us, and remain safe while having it.

The genesis was truly to find someone, was truly to make an impact, to bond. The difference now is that since I've never found it, I proceed as if I never will. Now I'm just into looking, not finding.

… I like something to suddenly appear that didn’t seem to be there. I like to be surprised in the area of flesh. I don’t necessarily like to be surprised in the area of brain, although I must say this girl did interest me that way. At one point she said something like that I should fuck bimbos and have the cigarette with her, which was a funny line. She says some very funny stuff.

It struck me today that the people that have had an impact on me are the people who didn't make it. Marilyn Monroe, Judy Garland, Montgomery Clift, Lenny Bruce, Janis Joplin, John Belushi. It's not Making It to be Marilyn Monroe, but it is to me. In our culture these people are heroes. There's something inside of that- a message that killing yourself like that isn't so bad. All the interesting people do it, the extraordinary ones. A weird, weird message. Most of the people I've admired in show business-comedians, writers, actors-are alcoholics or drug addicts or suicides. It's bizarre. And I get to be in that club now. It's the one thing I cling to in here: Wow, I'm hip now, like the dead people. Romancing the stoned.

P.S. That night in the emergency room, do you recall if I threw up something I needed? Some small but trivial thing that belonged inside? I distinctly feel as though I'm missing something. But then, I always have.

Sometimes, though. I'll be driving, listening to loud music with the day spreading out all over, and I'll feel something so big and great- a feeling as loud as the music. It's as though my skin is the only thing that keeps me from going everywhere all at once. If all of this doesn't tell you exactly what I'm doing, it should tell you how I'm feeling when I'm doing whatever it is.

And her sponsor said, "God never gives us any more than we can handle, so if He gives you a lot to handle, take it as a compliment. It's because He believes that you can handle a lot." It was such a powerful thought, I wanted to brand it into my brain.

It’s like I’ve got a visa for happiness, but for sadness I’ve got a lifetime pass.

Unrelieved reality. Some might call it a challenge, others a sentence. Whatever you call it, though, we here in the rehab—the newly clean and sober—belong to it as completely as slaves. Reality’s puppies. Nomads, yes-men, kings.

People say I've made a living travelling the world, but that's not quite right. I like to think instead that I've made a living 'writing' the world - in notebooks, on laptops, phones and postcards, the backs of lunch receipts, and the edges of maps and tourist brochures.