The short story, I should point out, is perforce a labor of love in today's literary world; there's precious little economic incentive to write one.
Man, I so sick of dinosaurs. They wasn't extinct, I'd go out an' kill 'em myself.
I wouldn't presume to define noir - if we could define it, we wouldn't need to use a French word for it - but it seems to me it's more a way of looking at the world than what one sees.
New York is an ugly city, a dirty city... But there is one thing about it. Once you have lived in New York and it has become your home, no place else is good enough.
I don't plan an awful lot in life just as I don't plan an awful lot in my fiction.
To say I drank my way into marriage isn't much of an exaggeration, and it's none at all to say I drank my way out of it.
Asking me why I did or didn't do anything is generally pointless. How do I know? And asking me what I'll do in the future is even less rewarding.
Stories are like assholes. Everybody's got one and most of 'em stink.
And, as long as you can make yourself go on choosing the pain over the relief, you can keep going.
I don't know about the rest of the country but in New York more people have learned anonymity from rent control than ever discovered it in a twelve-step program.
Back then, before it became clear that democracy was best served by a drunken electorate, the bars in New York City were required to close on Election Day.
Everybody's weird, fundamentally everybody is a snap. Sometimes it's a sexual thing and sometimes it's a different kind of weirdness, but one way or another everybody's nuts.
I've always essentially been a New Yorker.
I’ve tried writing and the sentences come out fine, but I write a few pages and I don’t want to go on.
Booze and tobacco and lots of sex. It keeps a lad young.
My mother's father was from Sligo, and he used to say it was the hardest thing in the world to find a man alive in Dublin who wasn't in the GPO during the Easter Rising. Twenty brave men marched into that post office, he said, and thirty thousand marched out.
If fate sends you a lemon, use it to make lemonade.
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