“People then, who are sad, but can’t let themselves feel sad, or express it, the sadness, I’m trying rather clunkily to say, these persons may strike someone who’s sensitive as somehow just not quite right. Not quite there. Blank. Distant. Muted Distant. Spacey, was an American term we grew up with. Wooden. Deadened. Disconnected. Distant. Or they make drink alcohol or take other drugs. The drugs both blunt the real sadness and allow some skewed version of the sadness some sort of expression, like throwing someone through a living room window out into the flowerbeds she’d so very carefully repaired after the last incident.”

David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest (via nineteencigarettes)
from Tumblr http://ift.tt/1Bf6a0x