In New York, People Are

The Deeper Reality Is That I’m Not Sure If What I Do Is Real. I Usually Believe That I’m Certain About How I Feel, But That Seems Naive. How Do We Know How We Feel?…there Is Almost Certainly A Constructed Schism Between (a) How I Feel, And (b) How I Think I Feel. There’s Probably A Third Level, Too—how I Want To Think I Feel.

It's Peculiar What You Remember When You're Not Trying.

The Problem A Lot Of Writers Have Is That They Really Enjoy People Saying, "you're Brilliant." They Let Their Self-perception Be Dictated By Reader Response. But If You're Going To Let Other People Make You Feel Good, You're Going To End Up Feeling Bad When They Say The Opposite. You've Got To Be A Cultural Stoic. Then You Won't Be Devastated By People Who Respond Negatively. Of Course, The Downside Is That It Sort Of Stops You From Being Able To Enjoy People Liking Your Work.

If I'm Around Spiders, My Fear Isn't So Much The Spider, But My Fear Is That I'm Somewhere Rustic And That Spiders Are Crawling Around. I Must Be In The Woods.

I Hate Motorcycles. Because If I Hit One, Even If It's Not My Fault, If I've Done Nothing Wrong, I'm Not Charged With Manslaughter, He's Gonna Die, Because He's On A Motorcycle. So I Have To Live My Life Knowing That I Killed This Guy.