Watching your daughter being collected by her date feels like handing over a million dollar Stradivarius to a gorilla.

Scoops of mint ice cream with chips of chocolate cows.

At 19, everything is possible and tomorrow looks friendly.

A reporter meets interesting people. If he endures, he will get to know princes and presidents, popes and paupers, prostitutes and panderers. And always, in the back of his head, there will be a dozen men and women he will never meet. And always, he will feel the poorer for it.

Nothing is as far away as one minute ago.

It is impossible to read for pleasure from something to which you are both father and mother, born in such travail that the writer despises the thing that enslaved him.

The future is an opaque mirror. Anyone who tries to look into it sees nothing but the dim outlines of an old and worried face.