Nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street.

Every writer at the New Yorker is smarter than me.

You just have to keep going to find that thing that lets you in the door. Sometimes in life when that day comes and you're given the key, you throw it away.

If I had wings, no one would ask me: should I fly?

Patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings.

I am hanging in the balance of a perfect finished plan, like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.

If you don't underestimate me, I won't underestimate you.