I want the younger writer to know that she or he is meaningful, that what they have to say is powerful in this world. But they can't come indoors, they can't close the curtains, they can't, like, lock themselves away from the world and say nothing.

Whatever you say, say nothing.

There is always room for at least two truths.

The real beauty in life is that beauty can sometimes occur.

She's always thought that one of the beauties of New York is that you can be from anywhere and within moments of landing its yours.

No shame in saying that I felt a loneliness drifting through me. Funny how it was, everyone perched in their own little world with the deep need to talk, each person with their own tale, beginning in some strange middle point, then trying so hard to tell it all, to have it all make sense, logical and final.

Good days, they come around the oddest corners.