300 Arguments

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.

I like writing that is unsummarizable, a kernel that cannot be condensed, that must be uttered exactly as it is.

Everything has to be paid for, especially money.

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

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’ve never seen a ghost and I don’t believe in them. I might see one tonight, but even then I wouldn’t believe in ghosts. I’d believe in that ghost.

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

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

Is it a failure of my imagination that I’ve never been able to summon any genuine feeling about a sports team?