In a world spoiled by the obituary of attention and the dormancy of empathy, people are coming up short of authentic emotion. ("The upper lip must never tremble")

I don't care if the New York Times writes an obituary for me. I just want you to write one. ... You say you're not special because the world doesn't know about you, but that's an insult to me. I know about you.

When they write my obituary. Tomorrow. Or the next day. It will say, Leo Gursky is survived by an apartment full of shit