Money follows art. Money wants what it can't buy. Class and talent. And remember while there's a talent for making money, it takes real talent to know how to spend it.

Rule number one: Why is it that the one time a cute guy talks to you, you have a friend who's in crisis?

The only way to look at men is like they're electrons. They have all these charges sticking out, and they're always looking for a hole where they can put those charges.

Rule number three: Best friends always think you deserve the best guy even if the best guy barely knows you exist.

Oh I don't plan on getting married. It's a legalized form of prostitution.

As Im writing, certain things become clear to me and certain things begin to feel right and make sense. The pieces start to fall into place.

Out of all the neighborhoods in Manhattan, Soho in particular had the charged atmosphere of a movie set, populated with passersby who looked like extras from Central Casting, so perfectly did they fit into this environment. There was the feeling of everything being not quite real, or too perfectly cliched to actually be true, and it began to rain in a fine, misty drizzle from a black patent leather sky.