[…] To be really human is probably to be unavoidably sentimental and naive and goo-prone and generally pathetic, is to be in some basic interior way forever infantile, some sort of not-quite-right-looking infant dragging itself anaclitically around the map, with big wet eyes and froggy-soft skin, huge skull, gooey drool.
1996, David Foster Wallace, “14 November Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment”, in Infinite Jest […], Boston, Mass., New York, N.Y.: Little, Brown and Company, pages 694–695