The Fading Light Is Us, And We

Then I Celebrated My Wall Of Books. I Counted The Volumes On My Twenty-foot-long Modernist Bookshelf To Make Sure None Had Been Misplaced Or Used As Kindling By My Subtenant. “you’re My Sacred Ones,” I Told The Books. “no One But Me Still Cares About You. But I’m Going To Keep You With Me Forever. And One Day I’ll Make You Important Again.” I Thought About That Terrible Calumny Of The New Generation: That Books Smell.

The Memoirs I Love Are All Very Intense. If You're Going To Do A Memoir And Protect Yourself, What The Hell's The Point? Just Do Fiction.

You Could Drown A Kitten In Her Blue Eyes.

Italy Has Sun And Tomatoes, And Russia Just Has Real Problems.

If My Mother Hadn't Tried To Sell Me Chicken Kiev Cutlets For $1.40 After I Graduated From College, Maybe I Would've Been The Lawyer She Wanted Me To Be.