Taste ... Is A Matter Of Taste

What I'm Nostalgic For Is The Idea Of An Edge In New York. There Used To Be These Fringes Of The City Where Civilization Sort Of Ended, And Therefore Young People Could Live Cheaply, Or Open Nightclubs Or Art Galleries, Or Even Squat. That Fringe Moved Out To New Jersey And Brooklyn. The Whole Idea Of The Metropolis Is The Centralization Of Like-minded Souls, And When The Central Real Estate Becomes Too Expensive, The Dreamers, The Young Poets, And The Artists Will Go Elsewhere.

He Insisted On A Single Trade Secret: That You Had To Survive, Find Some Quiet, And Work Hard Every Day.

There Is A Type Of Writer That Can Happily Bury Themselves In The Country And Dig Very Deep, But I'm Not Like That.

Bottles Of Wine Aren't Like Paintings. At Some Point You Have To Consume Them. The Object In Life Is To Die With No Bottles Of Wine In Your Cellar. To Drink Your Last Bottle Of Wine And Go To Sleep That Night And Not Wake Up.

The Only Sensible Approach Is Not To Take It Too Seriously. What Counts Is The Writing.