300 Arguments

I don’t love writing; I love having a problem I believe I might someday write my way out of.

Every success story can be told as a series of failures.

What’s worse: Offending someone or lying to someone? Saying something stupid when it’s your turn, or not saying anything? Tell me which, and I’ll tell you your problem.

It isn’t so much that geniuses make it look easy; it’s that they make it look fast.

I like writing that is unsummarizable, a kernel that cannot be condensed, that must be uttered exactly as it is.

I annotated my friend’s book manuscript with scribbles on every page. She annotated mine with a single note: This needs to be better. She trusted that I would know what to do, and I did.

It can be worth forgoing marriage for sex, and it can be worth forgoing sex for marriage. It can be worth forgoing parenthood for work, and it can be worth forgoing work for parenthood. Every case is orthogonal to all the others. That’s the entire problem.

Everything has to be paid for, especially money.

You aren’t the same person after a good night’s sleep as you are after a sleepless night. But which person is you?