What’s old doesn’t need to be old-fashioned. It gets reborn.

There is no ideal length, but you develop a little interior gauge that tells you whether or not you're supporting the house or detracting from it. When a piece gets too long, the tension goes out of it. That word—tension—has an animal insistence for me. A piece of writing rises and falls with tension. The writer holds one end of the rope and the reader holds the other end—is the rope slack, or is it tight? Does it matter to the reader what the next sentence is going to be?

One of the best things I’ve read about that inexplicably, but endlessly, fascinating group of people, the so-called Serious Collectors of 78s. Petrusich burrows into not just their personalities but the hunger that unites and drives their obsessions. She writes elegantly, and makes you think, and most important manages to hang onto her skepticism in the midst of her own collecting quest.

The city of Cork - the urban center, where all the shops and bars and everything are - is actually an island, a river island.

What’s old doesn’t need to be old-fashioned. It gets reborn.

Freaky things happen all the time in the world. I suppose everything has to happen for the first time at some point.

I'm just saying, take courage. That and pretty much that alone is never the incorrect thing to do.