An artist's only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else's.

You never even worried, with Jane, whether your hand was sweaty or not. All you knew was, you were happy. You really were.

If I'd wanted this place to fill up with every fat Irish rose that passes by, I'd've said so.

Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first one who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior.

God, I wish you could have been there.

Let's just try to have a marvelous time this weekend. I mean not try to analyze everything to death for once, if possible. Especially me. I love you.

Grand. There's a word I really hate. It's a phony. I could puke every time I hear it.