I can't with any conscience argue for New York with anyone. It's like Calcutta. But I love the city in an emotional, irrational way, like loving your mother or your father even though they're a drunk or a thief. I've loved the city my whole life - to me, it's like a great woman.

Everything is controlled by a small evil group to which, unfortunately, no one we know belongs.

They were doing the Dying Swan at the ballet. And there was a rumor that some bookmarkers had drifted into town from upstate New York and that they had fixed the bullet. There was a lot of money bet on the swan to live.

I'm trying to arrange my life so I don't have to be present.

If I just got up in the morning and had no place to go and was retired or something, I would be sitting there and be thinking, "Gee, what is the purpose of life? Why are we all finite? Why do we get old and die? Is there nothing out there? Why is it so tragic? Why do our loved ones perish? Why do we generate?" Who wants to think about that stuff?

If the world is a progressively realized community of interpretation, then either quadruplictity will drink procrastination or, provided that the nothing negates, boredom will ensue seldom more often than frequently.

I don't know the question, but sex is definitely the answer.