I'm absolutely astonished and terribly disappointed at the news that David Foster Wallace has killed himself.  As someone who read every one of the 1,079 pages of Infinite Jest, as well as his less well-known first novel The Broom of the System and pretty much every single one of his other books, fiction and non-fiction, here was a guy so much smarter than everyone else, you never wanted to admit how much of his writing you couldn't understand.

Seriously, it was like reading fiction from the future, so cutting-edge and deadpan and different that you whimpered at the thought of how much better you were going to have to be to keep up.

I'm sad for him, sad for any suicide, and selfishly sad that there'll be no more books.  Bloody hell.