To The Resentment That Hides Inside Love,

I Don't Write About Anything I Don't Love Even If That Love Sometimes Gets All Screwed Up And Tormented.

Apparently Brooklyn Needn't Always Push Itself To Be Something Else, Something Conscious And Anxious, Something Pointed Toward Manhattan.... Brooklyn Might Sometimes Also Be Pleased, As Here On Flatbush, To Be Its Grubby, Enduring Self.

When The Civil Rights Battle Was Won, All The Jews And Hippies And Artists Were Middle Class White People And All The Blacks Were Still Poor. Materially, Not Much Changed.

Novelists Get To Direct The Perfect Films. We Get To Cast Every Part. We Dress The Set Exactly As We Wish.

Once You Fall Into Habits, I Think, You're Dead As An Artist. You Have To Challenge Yourself And Never Rest On Your Laurels, Never Think About What You've Done In The Past.