It's a GIRL. It's a little girl, with scrunched-up petal lips and a tuft of dark hair and hands in tiny fits, up by her ears. All that time, that's who was in there. And it's weird, but the minute I saw her I just thought: IT'S YOU. Of course it is.

Everyone knows the first rule of business is "Look good during confrontations." Or if it isn't, it should be.

I'll show Luke I can fit into the city. I'll show him I can be a true New Yorker. I'll go the gym, and then I'll eat a bagel, and I'll ... shoot someone, maybe? Or maybe just the gym will be enough.

This is what's so annoying about going out with Luke. You can't get away with anything.

The great thing about being a novelist is that you organize your own day.

Everyone keeps saying I’ll pick it up. But what if I don’t? I did algebra for three years, and I never picked that up.

Lover? I don't know. I don't know if she loves me. I don't know if I love her. All I can say is, she's the one I think about. All the time. She's the voice I want to hear. She's the face I hope to see.