I Do Not Have Any Home. So

Comparing The Brooklyn That I Know With Manhattan Is Like Comparing A Comfortable And Complacent Duenna To Her More Brilliant And Neurotic Sister.

And The Curt Truth Is That, In A Deep Secret Way, The State Of Being Loved Is Intolerable To Many.

In His Face There Came To Be A Brooding Peace That Is Seen Most Often In The Faces Of The Very Sorrowful Or The Very Wise. But Still He Wandered Through The Streets Of The Town, Always Silent And Alone.

It Was Like They Waited To Tell Each Other Things That Had Never Been Told Before. What She Had To Say Was Terrible And Afraid. But What He Would Tell Her Was So True That It Would Make Everything All Right. Maybe It Was A Thing That Could Not Be Spoken With Words Or Writing. Maybe He Would Have To Let Her Understand This In A Different Way. That Was The Feeling She Had With Him.

All We Can Do Is Go Around Telling The Truth.