Fenway Park, in Boston, is a lyric little bandbox of a ballpark. Everything is painted green and seems in curiously sharp focus, like the inside of an old-fashioned peeping-type Easter egg.

Those running tights the young women wear now, so they look like spacewomen, raspberry red and electric green so tight they show every muscle right into the crack between the buttocks, what is the point of them? Display. Young animals need to display.

There is no such thing as static happiness. Happiness is a mixed thing, a thing compounded of sacrifices, and losses, and betrayals.

There is this quality, in things, of the right way seeming wrong at first.

We were all brought up to want things and maybe the world isn't big enough for all that wanting. I don't know. I don't know anything

Appealingness is inversely proportional to attainability.

A cynic is a kind of romantic who has aged.