The end of suffering does not justify the suffering, what a mess I am, I thought, what a fool, how foolish and narrow, how worthless, how pinched and pathetic, how helpless.

Things were happening around us, but nothing was happening between us.

I think it's a greater risk not to write about 9\11. If you're in my position - a New Yorker who felt the event very deeply and a writer who wants to write about things he feels deeply about - I think it's risky to avoid what's right in front of you.

One of the greatest opportunities to live our values-or betray them-lies in the food we put on our plates.

Is that growing old? Or is it something worse?

Songs are as sad as the listener.

With writing, we have second chances.