Not a week ago I recommended David Foster Wallace to a budding writer with the cliched admonition: “a decent writer always writes but an exceptional writer always reads, and you need to read this guy.”
It made me feel cooler to have DFW as a contemporary.
I feel like I’ve lost a childhood friend — one who totally understood me, spoke my language and got my jokes.
A friend of mine sent a message that said "This is how I felt when I found out John Lennon was dead."
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