What Can You Say About The Family

At First, Writing For The New Yorker Was Very Scary To Me. I Couldn't Imagine Anything That I Would Write In That Typeface.

“this Is Hurting Me A Lot More Than It’s Hurting You,” He Said. It Was His Standard Line, But I Knew That This Time He Was Right. Worse Than The Boil Was The Stuff That Came Out Of It. What Got To Me, And Got To Him Even Worse, Was The Stench, Which Was Unbearable, And Unlike Anything I Had Come Across Before. It Was, I Thought, What Evil Must Smell Like - Not An Evil Person But The Wicked Ideas That Have Made Him That Way. How Could A Person Continue To Live With Something So Rotten Inside? And So Much Of It!

I've Wasted A Lot Of Time Pretending To Be Interested In People Who Weren't Terribly Interesting.

My First Semester I Had Only Nine Students. Hoping They Might View Me As Professional And Well Prepared, I Arrived Bearing Name Tags Fashioned In The Shape Of Maple Leaves.

The Korean Man Nodded, The Way You Do When You’re A Foreigner And Understand That Someone Has Finished A Sentence.