300 Arguments

Slowly, slowly, I accumulate sentences. I have no idea what I’m doing until suddenly it reveals itself, almost done.

It’s easier to speak to a crowd, to stare into the spotlight, than it is to look into a human face.

There are two kinds of people: those who can’t perform the act when they’re sad and those who perform it only to escape sadness. I have a theory that the second kind of person lives longer.

You aren’t the same person after a good night’s sleep as you are after a sleepless night. But which person is you?

It can be worth forgoing marriage for sex, and it can be worth forgoing sex for marriage. It can be worth forgoing parenthood for work, and it can be worth forgoing work for parenthood. Every case is orthogonal to all the others. That’s the entire problem.

Everything has to be paid for, especially money.

Think of this as a short book composed entirely of what I hoped would be a long book’s quotable passages.

Every success story can be told as a series of failures.

I annotated my friend’s book manuscript with scribbles on every page. She annotated mine with a single note: This needs to be better. She trusted that I would know what to do, and I did.

I don’t love writing; I love having a problem I believe I might someday write my way out of.