I Don't Think There Is A National

That's What Happens When You're Thirty-seven Years Old: You Do The Things You Always Did But The Result Is Somehow Different.

Everything, In Retrospect, Is Obvious. But If Everything Were Obvious, Authors Of Histories Of Financial Folly Would Be Rich . . .

He's A Machine For Competitive Balance, ... Yes, The Money Is In New York. Yes, The Money Is In His Hands. But He Squanders Money. Thank God For It.

I Didn't Think One Day Something Would Happen That Would Bring Me Back To Wall Street To Write What Is Essentially A Sequel.

The World Clings To Its Old Mental Picture Of The Stock Market Because It’s Comforting; Because It’s So Hard To Draw A Picture Of What Has Replaced It; And Because The Few People Able To Draw It For You Have No Interest In Doing So.