In The End, The Only Thing The

I Don't Ask For The Meaning Of The Song Of A Bird Or The Rising Of The Sun On A Misty Morning. There They Are, And They Are Beautiful.

More Than Anything, It's A Game Of Innocence. Politicians May Come And Go, But They Always Get Booed At The Ballpark.

The Only Way To Fight Nostalgia Is To Listen To Somebody Else's Nostalgia

In The End, The Only Thing The True New Yorker Knows About New York Is That It Is Unknowable.

Just Like That. Gone Forever. They Will Not Grow Old Together. They Will Never Live On A Beach By The Sea, Their Hair Turned White, Dancing In A Living Room To Billie Holiday Or Nat Cole. They Will Not Enter A New York Club At Midnight And Show The Poor Hip-hop Fools How To Dance. They Will Not Chuckle Together Over The Endless Folly Of The World, Its Vanities And Stupid Ambitions. They Will Not Hug Each Other In Any Chilly New York Dawn. Oh, Mary Lou. My Baby. My Love.