I will try to cram these paragraphs full of facts and give them a weight and shape no greater than that of a cloud of blue butterflies.

It is in the nature of the New Yorker to be as topical as possible, on a level that is often small in scale and playful in intention.

Parody is homage gone sour.

I will try to cram these paragraphs full of facts and give them a weight and shape no greater than that of a cloud of blue butterflies.

The guns of the big events rumble through our pages, but the tiny firecrackers are constantly hissing and popping there as well; it appears that much of my life as a journalist has been devoted to sedulously setting off firecrackers.

Not a shred of evidence exists in favor of the idea that life is serious.

Wars and elections are both too big and too small to matter in the long run.