I've Always Been Terribly Uninterested In Criticism.

The Horse Could Not Do Without Manhattan. It Drew Him Like A Magnet, Like A Vacuum, Like Oats, Or A Mare, Or An Open, Never-ending, Tree-lined Road.

It Was A Good Speech, But The Reaction Was Due To The Fact That Politics Are Madness, And Even If One Does Not Know It, A Country In Electoral Season Experiences Flares Of Lunacy Like The Great Storms That Sometimes March Across The Golden Surface Of The Sun.

They Were Dancing Around The Fountain, Arm In Arm, In An Old Dutch Dance, Their Cheeks Touching, Their Hands Entwined. They Had No Music; They Hummed. And There Was No Reason For Them To Be Dancing That Peter Lake Could See, Except That It Was An Exceptionally Beautiful Night.

Writing Is Still My Main Career, But I Would Love, For Instance, To Serve In The New York State Assembly.

I've Imagined Great Victories, And I've Imagined Great Races. The Races Are Better.