I find I very rarely live up to my words. And since you know me primarily through my words, there are oh so many ways I can disappoint.

This is the trap of having something to live for: Everything else seems lifeless.

New Yorkers love the bigness -- the skyscrapers, the freedom, the lights. But they also love it when they can carve out some smallness for themselves. When the guy at the corner store knows which newspaper you want. When the barista has your order ready before you open your mouth. When you start to recognize the people in your orbit, and you know that, say, if you're waiting for the subway at eight fifteen on the dot, odds are the redhead with the red umbrella is going to be there too.

Every single answer starts with the phrase 'I don't know.' But most of the time she does know, if I give her the time and the space in which to answer.

Music is everywhere. It’s in the air between us, waiting to be sung.

The way you argued with me, you would have thought that we were debating the existence of God or whether or not we should move in together. These kinds of fights can never be won – even if you’re the victor, you’ve hurt the other person, and there has to be some loss associated with that.

I just needed to realize that style was like personality - it didn't always have to be consistent; it just had to be something you lived with.