The Seeds Of Love Have Taken Hold

...there Is An Idea Of A Patrick Bateman, Some Kind Of Abstraction, But There Is No Real Me, Only An Entity, Something Illusory, And Though I Can Hide My Cold Gaze And You Can Shake My Hand And Feel Flesh Gripping Yours And Maybe You Can Even Sense Our Lifestyles Are Probably Comparable: I Simply Am Not There.

After A While You Learn That Everything Stops.

And As Things Fell Apart, Nobody Paid Much Attention

And," Price Adds, Smiling, "if Another Round Of Bellinis Comes Within A Twenty-foot Radius Of Our Table We Are Going To Set The Maitre D' On Fire. So You Know, Warn Him.

He Was Simply Someone Who Floated Through Our Lives And Didn't Seem To Care How Flatly He Perceived Everyone Or That He'd Shared Our Secret Failures With The World, Showcasing The Youthful Indifference, The Gleaming Nihilism, Glamorizing The Horror Of It All.