The Balls Do Not Make A Writer.

Time Does Nothing But Hand You Down Shabbier And Older Things.

You Don't Want Your Neurosurgeon To Have Doubts About The Meaning Of It All While He Or She Is Operating On Your Brain.

I Don't Know The Numbers, But Roughly Half Of The People Who Came Through Ellis Island Returned Home. They Came Here To Make Money, Not To Make History.

The People Who Listened To Rock 'n' Roll, I Thought, Were Bound Together Against The People Who Didn't Listen To Rock 'n' Roll. That, Of Course, Didn't Work At All. Your Taste In Rock 'n' Roll Does Not Say Anything About You, Morally Or Otherwise.

I Do Have A Sense Of Displacement As Constant Instability — The Uninterrupted Existence Of Everything That I Love And Care About Is Not Guaranteed At All. I Wait For Catastrophes.