Dave Eggers

Dave
Eggers
1970

American Writer, Editor, Publisher, Novelist and Screenwriter, known for memoir "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius"

Author Quotes

You know how you finish a bag of chips and you hate yourself? You know you?ve done nothing good for yourself. That?s the same feeling, and you know it is, after some digital binge. You feel wasted and hollow and diminished.

Your tools have elevated gossip, hearsay and conjecture to the level of valid, mainstream communication. And besides that, it?s fucking dorky. Mae exhaled

This is the peculiar problem of constant connectivity: any silence of more than a few hours provokes apocalyptic thoughts.

Under the guise of having every voice heard, you create mob rule, a filterless society where secrets are crimes.

We thought we were young and that there would be time to love well sometime in the future. This is a terrible way to think. If I ever love again, I will not wait to love as I can. It is no way to live, to wait to love.

What would a brain do if not these sorts of exercises? I have no idea how people function without near-constant chaos. I'd lose my mind.

Why do we pursue information that we know will never leave our heads?

You know, it's been proven that 35 to 40 hours a year with one-on-one attention, a student can get one grade level higher

You're breaking out of character, again.

This is why Max loved Mr. Beckmann: he was an equal. He seemed to have navigated his way through seven or so decades of adulthood without forgetting one moment of his childhood- what he loved and hated, feared and coveted.

Up there we see everything, Oakland to the left, El Cerrito and Richmond to the right, Marin forward, over the Bay, Berkeley below, all red rooftops and trees of cauliflower and columbine, shaped like rockets and explosions, all those people below us, with humbler views; we see the Bay Bridge, clunkety, the Richmond Bridge, straight, low, the Golden Gate, red toothpicks and string, the blue between, the blue above, the gleaming white Land of the Lost/Superman's North Pole Getaway magic crystals that are San Francisco.

We want everyone to follow their dreams, their hearts (aren't they bursting, like ours?); we want them doing things that we will find interesting.

When anybody starts out with a memoir, you get the impulse to tell your own story with your own voice, and you get all that out in one fell swoop sometimes.

Why do you want to be on The Real World? -Because I want everyone to witness my youth Why? -Isn't it gorgeous?

You look at pictures of Nepal, push a smile button, and you think that?s the same as going there.

Yousef had been lighthearted during his questions, but there was something very serious and sad under his smile, and Alan knew what it was. It was the knowledge that there would be no fighting, and there would be no struggle, no stand taken, and that the two of them, because they were not lacking materially, because despite injustices in their countries they were the recipients of preposterous bounty, would likely do nothing. They were content, they had won. The fighting would be done by others, elsewhere.

This morning there?s first a predictable story about Darfur; an expert on African affairs notes that seven thousand African Union troops patrolling a region the size of France have been ineffectual in preventing continued terror. Funding for the troops is about to run out, and it seems that no one, including the United States, is ready to put forth more money or come up with new ideas to stop the killing and displacement. This is not surprising to those of us who lived through twenty years of oppression by the hands of Khartoum and its militias.

Wars can come in different shapes and guises, but always wars come in increments. I am convinced there are steps, and that once these events are set in motion, they are virtually impossible to reverse. There were other steps in the country's stumble toward war, and I remember these days clearly now. But again, at the time I did not recognize these days as such, not as steps but as days like any others.

We were entwined so tightly that I was afraid to breathe, lest she move at all.

When I first travelled, I was naive, sloppy, wide-eyed, and nothing happened to me. That?s probably where the dumb luck came in. Then I began to read the guidebooks, the State Department warnings, the endless elucidation of national norms, cultural cues and insults and regional dangers, and I became wary, careful, savvy. I kept my money taped inside my shoe, or strapped to my stomach. I took any kind of precaution, believing that the people of this area did this, and the people of that province did that. But then, finally, I realised no one of any region did anything I have ever expected them to do, much less anything the guidebooks said they would. Instead, they behaved as everyone behaves, which is to say they behave as individuals of damnably infinite possibility. Anyone could do anything, in theory, but most of the time everyone everywhere acts with plain bedrock decency, helping where help is needed, guiding where guidance is necessary. It?s almost weird. [The long ride to Riyadh]

Why shouldn?t your curiosity about the world be rewarded?

You might not be able to operate your own Learjet and have an unlimited expense account, but if you have a reasonable expectation for a print-based product, whether it's a newspaper or a magazine, you can certainly exist.

This part concerns the unshakable feeling one gets, one thinks, after the unthinkable and unexplainable happens--the feeling that, if this person can die, and that person can die, and this can happen and that can happen...well, then what exactly is preventing everything from happening to this person, he around whom everything else happened? Just as some police--particularly those they dramatize on television--might be familiar with death, and might expect it an any instant--so does the author, possessing a naturally paranoid disposition, compounded by environmental factors that make it seem not only possible but probable that whatever there might be out there that snuffs out life is probably sniffing around for him, that his number is perennially, eternally up, that his draft number is low, that his bingo card is hot, that he has a bull's-eye on his chest and target on his back. It's fun. You'll see.

We are all feeding from each other, all the time, every day.

We were fools and now we were driving to our deaths in a rental car. Janet Jackson was tinkling from the speakers, asking what we had done for her as of late

Author Picture
First Name
Dave
Last Name
Eggers
Birth Date
1970
Bio

American Writer, Editor, Publisher, Novelist and Screenwriter, known for memoir "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius"