Ordinary language is all right.
One could divide humanity into two classes:
those who master a metaphor, and those who hold by a formula.
Those with a bent for both are too few, they do not comprise a class.
Infinite Jest made me a contemporary of Wallace when I read it in the first paperback edition—97? 98?—in college and felt like I was taking part in something that was happening. Who is to say it's not still happening?
Somehow, summer emboldens; everyone sees the public as more public.
Often, with the non-artsy, I am the one who shrinks away from more comprehensive understanding: I do not want to risk a disappointment great enough to make me give up on any engagement at all.
As a kid, when I first learned how to tape-record songs off the radio, they released so many singles from Bad that I thought I could record the whole album. I didn't understand why the radio station wouldn't let me hear that much of any other records.
'Reading the essay now, I still sense in it the initial exhilaration in finding ways to mean everything I was saying, and to say a larger fraction of what I had philosophically to say, than I had ever experienced. The elation was an experience as of escaping from what I had inarticulately felt in my philosophical education, and remaining in much of philosophy's dispensation as I began my life of teaching philosophy, as prohibitions on, or suspicions of, everyday speech, quite in the absence of patient attention to the individual utterance.'