Perhaps this is our strange and haunting paradox here in America -- that we are fixed and certain only when we are in movement. At any rate, that is how it seemed to young George Webber, who was never so assured of his purpose as when he was going somewhere on a train. And he never had the sense of home so much as when he felt that he was going there. It was only when he got there that his homelessness began.

There’s no sight on earth more appealing than that of a woman making dinner for someone she loves.

Culture is the arts elevated to a set of beliefs.

Is this not the true romantic feeling; not to desire to escape life, but to prevent life from escaping you.

Making the world safe for hypocrisy.

Loneliness is and always has been the central and inevitable experience of every man.

Only the dead know Brooklyn.