It is not the least of a martyr's scourges to be canonized by the persons who burned him.

Men very seldom change, try though we will, beneath the shifts of exterior doctrine, our hearts so often remain what they were.

We are all addicts in various stages of degradation where I live on the Upper West Side, some to heroin, some to small dogs, and some to the New York Times. The heroin is cut, the dogs are paranoid, and the Times cheats by skimping on the West Coast ball scores. No matter, each of us goes upon the street solely in pursuit of his own particular curse.

Any experience deeply felt makes some men better and some men worse. When it has ended, they share nothing but the recollection of a commitment in which each was tested and to some degree found wanting. [...] The consequences of the journey change the voyager so much more than the embarking or the arrival.

Every social war is a battle between the very few on both sides who care and who fire their shots across a crowd of spectators.

A neighborhood is where, when you go out of it, you get beat up.

It is not the least of a martyr's scourges to be canonized by the persons who burned him.