I Was About 13, In Some Ways,

Mr. Franzen Said He And Mr. Wallace, Over Years Of Letters And Conversations About The Ethical Role Of The Novelist, Had Come To The Joint Conclusion That The Purpose Of Writing Fiction Was “a Way Out Of Loneliness.” (ny Times Article On The Memorial Service Of David Foster Wallace.)

Brooklyn Was Like Philadelphia Made Better By Its Proximity To Manhattan.

...she Felt That Nothing Could Kill Her Hope Now, Nothing. She Was Seventy-five And She Was Going To Make Some Changes In Her Life.

If You Want To Have Friends, You Have To Remember That Nobody's Perfect.

How Wrong To Have Been So Negative, How Wrong To Have Been So Gloomy, How Wrong To Have Run Away From Life, How Wrong To Have Said No, Again And Again, Instead Of Yes.