Can we really be whoever we want to be, now that we’ve collected all that we are?

I discovered John Fante when I was 17 years old - strangely, not through Charles Bukowski, but through William Saroyan, who was his drinking buddy.

It's not easy getting old, you know. Things become a lot less clear.

My neediness is not a hole to be filled but something beneath the skin scratching to get out.

You have to smile, if you expect anybody to smile back.

If I walk into a place, a party, say, and there's a bookshelf, I immediately gravitate toward it. Unless there's a bar. But even then, it's only a matter of a few rounds before I make my way to the bookshelf. If there are good books on it, I may never leave the spot all night. Anybody I really want to talk to is going to make his or her way to that bookshelf sooner or later, anyway, right? Books are a nexus. They start conversations, and they continue conversations, and they make people better conversationalists. I have not found this to be the case with Iron Chef, or even alcohol.

I really believe in challenging myself, pushing myself to new places.