The fact is that all of us have only one personality, and we wring it out like a dishtowel. You are what you are.

There is such a thing as too much couth.

I don't know where we're going or how we'll get there, but when we get there we'll be there - and that's something, even if it's nothing.

Fate was dealing from the bottom of the deck.

The dubious privilege of a freelance writer is he’s given the freedom to starve anywhere.

There are nineteen words in Yiddish that convey gradations of disparagement, from a mild, fluttery helplessness to a state of downright, irreconcilable brutishness. All of them can be usefully employed to pinpoint the kind of individuals I write about.

I cannot recall a more engaging passage in fiction, and I've been trying for almost eighteen seconds.