The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter.

I'm Not Explaining This Right. What Happened Was This. There Were These Beautiful Feelings And Loose Little Pleasures Inside Me. And This Woman Was Something Like An Assembly Line For My Soul. I Run These Little Pieces Of Myself Through Her And I Come Out Complete. Now Do You Follow Me?

Comparing The Brooklyn That I Know With Manhattan Is Like Comparing A Comfortable And Complacent Duenna To Her More Brilliant And Neurotic Sister.

There's Nothing That Makes You So Aware Of The Improvisation Of Human Existence As A Song Unfinished. Or An Old Address Book.

Southerners Are The More Lonely And Spiritually Estranged, I Think, Because We Have Lived So Long In An Artificial Social System That We Insisted Was Natural And Right And Just - When All Along We Knew It Wasn't.

It Is A Curious Emotion, This Certain Homesickness I Have In Mind. With Americans, It Is A National Trait, As Native To Us As The Roller-coaster Or The Jukebox. It Is No Simple Longing For The Home Town Or Country Of Our Birth. The Emotion Is Janus-faced: We Are Torn Between A Nostalgia For The Familiar And An Urge For The Foreign And Strange. As Often As Not, We Are Homesick Most For The Places We Have Never Known.