Anyone Who Doubts That Caffeine

I Have Never Been Able To Resist A Book About Books.

It Is A Truism Of Epistolary Psychology That, For Example, A Christmas Thank-you Note Written On December 26 Can Say Any Old Thing, But If You Wait Until February, You Are Convinced That Nothing Less Than Middlemarch Will Do.

It Is A Grave Error To Assume That Ice Cream Consumption Requires Hot Weather.

I Have Always Felt That The Action Most Worth Watching Is Not At The Center Of Things But Where Edges Meet. I Like Shorelines, Weather Fronts, International Borders. There Are Interesting Frictions And Incongruities In These Places, And Often, If You Stand At The Point Of Tangency, You Can See Both Sides Better Than If You Were In The Middle Of Either One.

Something Amazing Happens When The Rest Of The World Is Sleeping. I Am Glued To My Chair. I Forget That I Ever Wanted To Do Anything But Write. The Crowded City, The Crowded Apartment, And The Crowded Calendar Suddenly Seem Spacious. Three Or Four Hours Pass In A Moment; I Have No Idea What Time It Is, Because I Never Check The Clock. If I Chose To Listen, I Could Hear The Swish Of Taxis Bound For Downtown Bars Or The Soft Saxophone Riffs That Drift From A Neighbor's Window, But Nothing Gets Through. I Am Suspended In A Sensory Deprivation Tank, And The Very Lack Of Sensation Is Delicious.