Half the people who snuff people, that's what they want: recognition. Get their picture in the paper.

I live in Brooklyn. By choice. Those ignorant of its allures are entitled to wonder why.

Oh, I adore to cook. It makes me feel so mindless in a worthwhile way.

You're wonderful. Unique. I love you.

Poor slob without a name. It's a little inconvenient, his not having a name. But I haven't the right to give him one: he'll have to wait until he belongs to somebody. We just sort of took up by the river one day, we don't belong to each other: he's an independent, and so am I. I don't want to own anything until I know I've found the place where me and things belong together.

Rusty thinks I should smoke marijuana, and I did for a while, but it only makes me giggle.

Most of life is so dull it is not worth discussing, and it is dull at all ages. When we change our brand of cigarette, move to a new neighborhood, subscribe to a different newspaper, fall in and out of love, we are protesting in ways both frivolous and deep against the not to be diluted dullness of day-to-day living.