Smoking Is, As Far As

The Effect Of Aids Was Like A War In A Minute Country. Like, In World War I, A Whole Generation Of Englishmen Died All At Once. And With Aids, A Whole Generation Of Gay Men Died Practically All At Once, Within A Couple Of Years.

All The Time I'm Not Writing I Feel Like A Criminal. It's Horrible To Feel Felonious Every Second Of The Day. It's Much More Relaxing To Actually Write.

Perhaps The Least Cheering Statement Ever Made On The Subject Of Art Is That Life Imitates It.

I Prefer Dead Writers Because You Don't Run Into Them At Parties.

To Me The Biggest Waste Of Time Is Commuting. First, There Is No Place That Is Less Than A Two-hour Commute From New York. You Can Be Half A Mile Outside Of The City Limits; You're Two Hours Away By Car. I Don't Care How Close They Tell You It Is. "oh, It's Only Thirty Miles." Thirty Miles? At 8:30 In The Morning, Thirty Miles Outside New York, You Might As Well Be Starting Out In Omaha.