If it's red, French, costs too much, and tastes like the water that's left in the vase after the flowers have died and rotted, it's probably Burgundy.

There is a type of writer that can happily bury themselves in the country and dig very deep, but I'm not like that.

Mine is not an autonomous imagination.

Your presence here is is only a matter of conducting an experiment in limits, reminding yourself of what you aren’t.

The only thing worse for smoking than drinking is quitting drinking. Because then it's the only thing you can do.

I don't want to have my life fall apart for my work.

What I'm nostalgic for is the idea of an edge in New York. There used to be these fringes of the city where civilization sort of ended, and therefore young people could live cheaply, or open nightclubs or art galleries, or even squat. That fringe moved out to New Jersey and Brooklyn. The whole idea of the metropolis is the centralization of like-minded souls, and when the central real estate becomes too expensive, the dreamers, the young poets, and the artists will go elsewhere.