“I wouldn't be in shallow relationships, so I do nothing. I have no sex and no romance. Who needs it.? Who needs all these potential problems like disease and pregnancy.? I have no problems. No fear of disease, psychopaths, or stalkers. Why not just be with your friends and have real conversations and a good time.?”

“I know I have to do the right thing. And the sooner you do the right thing, the better. You get it over with, and you don't have to worry about it anymore. But who does that in real life? Instead, you procrastinate and think about it and put it off and think about it some more until that one little pebble grows into a giant block inside your head.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I demand silently. Why shouldn’t I become a famous writer? Like Norman Mailer. Or Philip Roth. And F. Scott Fitzgerald and Hemmingway and all those other men. Why can’t I be like them? I mean, what is the point of becoming a writer if no one reads what you’ve written?Damn Viktor Greene and The New School. Why do I have to keep proving myself all of the time? Why can’t I be like L’il, with everyone praising and encouraging me? Or Rainbow, with her sense of entitlement. I bet Viktor Greene never asked Rainbow why she wanted to be a writer.Or what if-I wince-Viktor Greene is right? I’m not a writer after all.”

“then why sell?" James had asked. "have to," Redmond said. "if I want to get married and have children and live in this city, I have to." "since when do you want to get married and have kids?" James asked. "since now. Life gets boring when you're middle-aged. You can't keep doing the same thing. You look like an asshole. You ever notice that?" Redmond had asked.”

“Who am I supposed to be again? Just be yourself. But who am I?”

“As long as you're neurotic and crazy, he's great. But once he solves all your problems, he becomes the problem.”

“All those men who end up disappointing you. After a while, you don't even want to have feelings anymore. You just want to get on with your life.”