More Than Anything, It's A Game Of

My Ambition Was To Embrace Those General Qualities That Ernest Hemingway, A Former Newspaperman, Once Said Should Be Present In All Good Books: 'the Good And The Bad, The Ecstasy, The Remorse And Sorrow, The People And The Places And How The Weather Was.'

Don't Tell Me About The World. Not Today. It's Springtime And They're Knocking Baseball Around Fields Where The Grass Is Damp And Green In The Morning And The Kids Are Trying To Hit The Curve Ball.

The Best Newspapermen I Know Are Those Most Thrilled By The Daily Pump Of City Room Excitements; They Long Fondly For A Good Murder; They Pray That Assassinations, Wars, Catastrophes Break On Their Editions.

In The End, The Only Thing The True New Yorker Knows About New York Is That It Is Unknowable.

Just Like That. Gone Forever. They Will Not Grow Old Together. They Will Never Live On A Beach By The Sea, Their Hair Turned White, Dancing In A Living Room To Billie Holiday Or Nat Cole. They Will Not Enter A New York Club At Midnight And Show The Poor Hip-hop Fools How To Dance. They Will Not Chuckle Together Over The Endless Folly Of The World, Its Vanities And Stupid Ambitions. They Will Not Hug Each Other In Any Chilly New York Dawn. Oh, Mary Lou. My Baby. My Love.