Saying "yes" Doesn't Mean I

There's Something So Romantic About Being Broke In New York. You Gotta Do It. You Have To Live There Once Without Any Money, And Then You Have To Live There When You Have Money. Let Me Tell You, Of The Two, The Latter Is Far Better.

I Find That, In General, The Amount Of Sharing Men Do With Each Other In One Year Is About The Same As What I Share With My Female Friends While We Wait For Our Cars At The Valet.

To Some People, Not Caring Is Supposed To Be Cool, Commenting Is More Interesting Than Doing, And Everything Is Judged And Then Disposed Of In, Like, Five Minutes. I'm Not Interested In Those Kinds Of People. I Like The Person Who Commits And Goes All In And Takes Big Swings And Then Maybe Fails Or Looks Stupid; Who Jumps And Falls Down, Rather Than The Person Who Points At The Person Who Fell, And Laughs. But I Do Sometimes Laugh When People Fall Down.

I Believe Great People Do Things Before They Are Ready.

I Had No Idea How To Get Guys To Notice Me. I Still Don't. Who Cares?