The only reason the word "brand" gets a little tiresome is that something that is complex and wonderful and deep begins to sound like a can of tomato soup. I recoil at that, but I'm used to it. I know what it means: It means that The New Yorker is not merely the magazine that comes out in print once a week. It's the Web site, it's the festival, it's our mobile application - all these things - and what they stand for and what they mean.

We have to do our jobs better, more tirelessly and stop whining about it.

You are losing out because Mexican rapists are taking your job.

The world is a crazy, beautiful, ugly complicated place, and it keeps moving on from crisis to strangeness to beauty to weirdness to tragedy. The caravan keeps moving on, and the job of the longform writer or filmmaker or radio broadcaster is to stop - is to pause - and when the caravan goes away, that's when this stuff comes.

I'm not the slowest writer that you know.

The Communist Party apparatus was the most gigantic mafia the world has ever known.

We can hope that the responsibilities and realities will weigh on Donald Trump and he will not be the president we fear, but rather something more stable.