The sports world is an echo chamber. All it takes is one quote from a general manager and a thousand sports columns bloom.

I didn't think one day something would happen that would bring me back to Wall Street to write what is essentially a sequel.

Yet another hedge fund manager explained Icelandic banking to me this way: you have a dog, and I have a cat. We agree that each is worth a billion dollars. You sell me the dog for a billion, and I sell you the cat for a billion. Now we are no longer pet owners but Icelandic banks, with a billion dollars in new assets.

I thought instead of a good rule for survival on Wall Street: Never agree to anything proposed on someone else's boat or you'll regret in in the morning.

You want the book to be special, and they are not always going to be special, but at least you want that to be the ambition. So the only way that happens is if you are not pressing to write a book.

It's such a pain in the ass to write a book, I can't imagine writing one if I'm not interested in the subject.

As idiotic as optimism can sometimes seem, it has a weird habit of paying off.