Books | @wordsnquotes

Don't read this book, unless you want prose that is aggressive, cathartic, brutally honest, and exposes life for what it is. If you are an optimistic, happy, positive person who believes that most things work usually work out for the best in the end, I hope that your existence is one frought with joy, and you can go on reading Rhonda Byrne and Joyce Meyer self-help texts before staying up and watching the usual popular sitcoms. However, for the rest of us who are actually awake and have eyes open to the way things truly are, this novel is a Bible. 'Candid' is a great word to describe Solipsist, but more than that, it is a document of pure authenticity, in the sense that it details reality with enough negativity to make even the most pessimistic look like jovial individuals. More than that, it is a book packed with enlightenment. Rollins is a machine full of human feeling, and he's in tune to what the world is really like, how horribly unfair, unpredictable, and atrocious it can be, how unusual and depressing late night insomniac despair can get. If you've ever felt like introspective suffering is an unavoidable, natural part of life, especially to thinkers, you're in for one of the best treats you'll ever come across in overlooked literature. This is just as good as Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre, and Notes From the Underground by Dostoyevsky, equal to Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar, and infinitely better than The Stranger by Albert Camus. If existentialism and inwardly produced angst is what you're searching for, look no further. Henry Rollins has delivered a book here that even he recognizes as his best; it shall make life a little easier for you by giving you something to relate to, if you've ever had the sense that the world isn't what you want it to be. Do I recommend this book? Of course. I also consider it mandatory for anyone that has ever been humiliated, agitated, or down on themselves. Check it out, if you want a taste of the way the world is. However, if you're comfortable in a little bubble of blind optimism, stay as far away as possible.

I admit it. I’d made some mistakes. Okay, some big mistakes. Loads of them. But you can’t hide in your room forever feeling sorry for yourself. It’s not practical. At some point, you’ve got to get back out there, face up to things, and confront your demons. Ever since I can remember, I’d wanted to be clever. Some people are born clever, same way some people are born beautiful. I’m not one of those people. I’m going to have to work at it, put in the effort, and if I mess it up, I’ll learn from it. Besides, sometimes it’s not about knowing the right answer. Sometimes it’s about asking the right questions.—

Starter for Ten by David Nicholls

Of course, you should study whatever you want. The written appreciation and understanding of literature, or any kind of artistic endeavor, is absolutely central to a decent society. Why d'you think books are the first things that the fascists burn?

Starter for Ten by David Nicholls

I’m aware that the transition into adulthood is difficult and sometimes painful one. I’m familiar with the conventions of the rites of passage, I know what the literary term bildungsroman means, I realize that it’s inevitable that I’ll look back at things that happened in my youth and give a wry, knowing smile. But surely there’s no reason why I should be embarrassed and ashamed of things that happened thirty seconds ago? No reason why life just should be this endless rolling panorama of bodged friendships, fumbled opportunities, fatuous conversations, wasted days, idiotic remarks and ill-judged, unfunny jokes that just lie on the floor in front of me, flipping about like dead fish?