To be willing to sort of die in order to move the reader, somehow. Even now I’m scared about how sappy this’ll look in print, saying this. -David Foster Wallace

Apparently David Foster Wallace hung himself last week, and was discovered by his wife. This saddens me, even though I’ve only read one of his books. That book was Infinite Jest, and I thought it was a monumental achievement. I found it to be remarkably appropriate to the time in my life (when I read it) and it seemed to me a mammoth tome about OCD (on the part of the author) and addiction.

I leave you with a quote from that book, from Wikiquotes:

The difference between homicide and suicide is mostly a matter of where you perceive the door top to the cage to be.

I hope Mr. Wallace got out of the cage.

There are things that shouldn’t happen to people. There are things that shouldn’t happen to anyone and when those things happen to me… I am not pleased. Even the jungle wants me dead. Where’s my Willard?

The horror. The horror.