David Sedaris (born December 26, 1956) is an American essayist and radio contributor.
- "I love things made out of animals," Sedaris says, holding a knife with a hoof for a handle. "It's just so funny to think of someone saying, 'I need a letter opener. I guess I'll have to kill a deer.'"
- Interview with Robert David Sullivan[specific citation needed]
- Shit is the tofu of cursing.
- Reading at George Washington University in Washington, DC. 4 April 2005.[specific citation needed]
- My hands tend to be full enough dealing with people who hate me for who I am. Concentrate too hard on the millions of people who hate you for what you are and you're likely to turn into one of those unkempt, sloppy dressers who sag beneath the weight of the two hundred political buttons they wear pinned to their coats and knapsacks.
- I haven't got the slightest idea how to change people, but still I keep a long list of prospective candidates just in case I should ever figure it out.
- "You kids think you invented sex," my mother was fond of saying. But hadn't we? With no instruction manual or federally enforced training period, didn't we all come away feeling we'd discovered something unspeakably modern? What produced in others a feeling of exhilaration left Jason and me with a mortifying feeling of guilt. We fled the room as if, in our fumblings, we had uncapped some virus we still might escape if we ran fast enough. Had one of the counselors not caught me scaling the fence, I felt certain I could have made it back to Raleigh by morning, skittering across the surface of the ocean like one of those lizards often featured on television wildlife programs.
Me Talk Pretty One Day (2000)Edit
- They were nothing like the French people I had imagined. If anything, they were too kind, too generous and too knowledgeable in the fields of plumbing and electricity.
- on genders of nouns: Why refer to Lady Crack Pipe or Good Sir Dishrag when these things could never live up to all that their sex implied?
- After a few months in my parents' basement, I took an apartment near the state university, where I discovered both crystal methamphetamine and conceptual art. Either one of the these things are dangerous, but in combination they have the potential to destroy entire civilizations.
- For the first twenty years of my life I rocked myself to sleep. It was a harmless enough hobby, but eventually I had to give it up. Throughout the next twenty-two years I lay still and discovered that after a few minutes I could drop off with no problem. Follow seven beers with a couple of scotches and a thimble of good marijuana, and it's funny how sleep just sort of comes on its own. Often I never even make it to bed. I'd squat down to pet the cat and wake up on the floor eight hours later, having lost a perfectly good excuse to change my clothes. I'm now told that this is not called "going to sleep" but rather "passing out," a phrase that carries a distinct hint of judgment.
- Like all of my friends, she's a lousy judge of character.
- In other parts of the country people tried to stay together for the sake of the children. In New York they tried to work things out for the sake of the apartment.
- If cooking is an art, I think we're in our Dada phase.
- Because I'm both a glutton and a masochist, my standard complaint, "That was so bad", is always followed by "And there was so little of it!"
- Friends always say, "How can you eat those? I read in the paper that they're made from hog's lips."
"And hearts and eyelids."
- The word phobic has its place when properly used, but lately it's been declawed by the pompous insistence that most animosity is based upon fear rather than loathing. No credit is given for distinguishing between these two very different emotions.
- Quoting his brother Paul
- You can't kill the Rooster. You might can fuck him up a little sometimes, but you can't kill him.
- I ain't seen pussy in so long I'd throw stones at it.
- from "You Can't Kill The Rooster"
Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim (2004)Edit
- If finding an apartment is like falling in love, buying one is like proposing on your first date and agreeing not to see each other until the wedding.
When You Are Engulfed in Flames (2008)Edit
- ... name association was big, as were my presumed interests in vaudeville and politics. In St. Louis the Bow tie was characterized as "very Charlie McCarthy", while in Chicago a young man defined it as "the pierced eyebrow of the Republican party".
- Our artwork did not hang on the refrigerator or anywhere near it, because our parents recognised it for what it was: crap.
- Essay, "Attaboy". p.14 [page numbers per the Abacus paperback edition 2014]
- My dad was like the Marine Corps, only instead of tearing you to pieces and then putting you back together, he just did the first part and called it a day.
I'm sure my father said plenty of normal things to me when I was growing up, but what stuck, probably because he said it, like, ten thousand times, was "Everything you touch turns to crap." His other catchphrase was "You know what you are? A big fat zero."
- Essay, "Memory laps". p.38
- I laid my hand over hers on the desktop and then looked down at it, thinking what a great poster this would make. "Togetherness," it might read. I'd expected electricity to pass mutually between us, but all I really felt was self-conscious, and disappointed that more people weren't looking on.
- Essay, "A friend in the ghetto". p.52-53
- People had their places, and to not understand that, to act in violation of it, demoted you from a nature nut to something even lower, a complete untouchable, basically.
- Essay, "Loggerheads". p.68
- In the beginning, I was put off by the harshness of German. Someone would order a piece of cake, and it sounded as if it were an actual order, like, "Cut the cake and lie facedown in that ditch between the cobbler and the little girl." I'm guessing this comes from having watched too many Second World War movies.
- Essay, "Easy, tiger". p.80
- Gambling to me is what a telephone pole might be to a groundhog. He sees that it's there but doesn't for the life of him understand why. Friends have tried to explain the appeal, but still I don't get it. Why take chances with money?
- Essay, "A guy walks into a bar car." p.127
- "Look at us," he said, and he let out a long sigh. "A couple of first-class fucking losers."
I wanted to defend myself, to at least point out that we were in second class.
- Essay, "A guy walks into a bar car." p.132 [conversation is on a train]
- In 2004, I offered priority signing to smokers, the reason being that, because they didn't have as long to live, their time was more valuable. Four years later my special treatment was reserved for men who stood five-foot-six and under. "That's right, my little friends," I announced. "There'll be no waiting in line for you." It seemed unfair to restrict myself to men, so I included any woman with braces on her teeth.
"What about us?" asked the pregnant and the lame. And because it was my show, I told them to wait their fucking turn.
- Essay, "Author, author." p.146
- But then my focus shifts and I find myself staring. I should be used to the way Americans dress when traveling, yet it still manages to amaze me. It's as if the person next to you had been washing shoe polish off a pig, then suddenly threw down his sponge saying, "Fuck this. I'm going to Los Angeles!"
- Essay, "Standing by." p.158
- Then again, even if I were informed, what's the likelihood of changing anyone's opinion, especially a couple of strangers? If my own little mind is nailed shut, why wouldn't theirs be?
- Essay, "Standing by." p.165
- A person doesn't consciously choose what he focuses on. Those things choose you, and, once they do, nothing, it seems, can shake them.
- Essay, "Understanding understanding owls." p.186
- My trip reminded me that we are all just animals, that stuff comes out of every hole we have, no matter where we live or how much money we've got. On some level we all know this and manage, quite pleasantly, to shove it towards the back of our minds.
- Essay, "#2 to go." p.192
- While talking, Mrs Dunston rummaged through her tremendous purse. Her wallet was eventually located, but then it seemed that the register was locked, so the best solution was to put the coffees on her bill. That's how I discovered her name and her room number: 302.
My only question then was what time I should arrange her wake-up call for. Let's see how chatty you feel at four a.m., I thought.
- Essay, "Now hiring friendly people." p.209
- It doesn't take many people to muck up a roadside. A devoted handful can do the trick. One of the things I find repeatedly is a plastic Diet Coke bottle containing a meticulously folded Mars bar wrapper. I imagine this is someone's after-work snack and that by putting the wrapper inside the empty bottle, the person feels he's done his bit. And though he has turned two pieces of trash into one, until he learns to keep it in his car, I don't think he's entitled to pat himself on the back.
- Essay, "Rubbish." p.222
- It's not lost on me that I'm so busy recording life, I don't have time to really live it.
- Essay, "Day in, day out." p.233 [on keeping diaries and journals]