The Only Sensible Approach Is

I Realized That I Might Not Ever Make It As A Writer, That It Might Be Because I Wasn't Good Enough, Or That It Might Be Because The Odds Were Just Too Long.

Most All Of The Writers I Admired When I Was In My Teens And Twenties Died Young. Fitzgerald Lived The Longest. He Was 44. Dylan Thomas Was 39. And Then Once You're Approaching 40, You Suddenly Think, "well, Maybe I Would Like To Live Longer Than Fitzgerald Or Thomas."

I Love To Imagine Inside The Head Of A Woman.

Sometimes I Think The Difference Between What We Want And What We're Afraid Of Is About The Width Of An Eyelash.

What I'm Nostalgic For Is The Idea Of An Edge In New York. There Used To Be These Fringes Of The City Where Civilization Sort Of Ended, And Therefore Young People Could Live Cheaply, Or Open Nightclubs Or Art Galleries, Or Even Squat. That Fringe Moved Out To New Jersey And Brooklyn. The Whole Idea Of The Metropolis Is The Centralization Of Like-minded Souls, And When The Central Real Estate Becomes Too Expensive, The Dreamers, The Young Poets, And The Artists Will Go Elsewhere.