[last lines] Amsterdam Vallon: ...And no matter what they did to build this city up again, for the rest of time, it will be like no-one even knew we was ever here.
Walter 'Monk' McGinn: Well that was bloody Shakespearian. Do you know who Shakespeare is? He wrote the King James Bible.
[as a man is about to be hung] Bill: That's a fine locket. I'll give you a dollar for it. Arthur: It was me mother's... Bill: Dollar and a half? Arthur: Done.
Bill: Well draw it mildly son. Happy Jack don't fill his lungs without I tell him he may do so.
Fred Gailey: Is it true that you're the owner of one of the biggest department stores in New York City? Mr. R. H. Macy: THE biggest!
[the village Calvera's raiding has changed] Calvera: New wall. Chris: There are lots of new walls, all around. Calvera: They won't keep me out! Chris: They were built to keep you in.
Stella: The New York State sentence for a Peeping Tom is six months in the workhouse. Jeff: Oh, hello, Stella. Stella: And they got no windows in the workhouse.
Gossie McKee: Look, Ray! Ray! We can make a new deal; whatever'd make you happy! Ray Charles: The deal is *you* can "lay the pipe" now!
[last lines] Caden Cotard: I know what to do with this play now. I have an idea. I think... Millicent Weems: [voice over] Die.
Sammy Barnathan: Why did we leave Adele, Caden? Caden Cotard: She left us. Nobody knows that better than you. Except me.
Caden Cotard: I think I have blood in my stool. Adele Lack: [barely awake] That stool in your office?
Bike lanes - I put that now in the category of things you shouldn't discuss at dinner parties, right? It used to be money and politics and religion. Now, in New York, you should add bike lanes.
I've never seen anyone handling pans in the streets of New York, and if I did I doubt I'd give them money, unless I needed a pan. I do give money to homeless people, whether they ask or no.
I mean New York City is the financial capital of the world. It's where all the money passes through, the Dow Jones, whatever, that's where all the money goes.
I didn't do a masters in creative writing until I was 26, which is quite old, and then I found myself in New York and I needed money, so I started working full time as an editor.
The first time I was given money to shop for myself, I was 13 and staying with my godmother in New York. I went to Clinique and bought the three-step acne programme and felt so grown-up.
I was working like a dog as a housekeeper, barista, nanny, cook, so I could save enough money to really sit with my instruments. Whenever I had 20 minutes, I would practice a new chord or write a new verse.
I had to figure out how to survive in New York, and most of my time was occupied in getting an apartment and getting money. A lot of older jazz guys looked out for me and found me gigs and places to stay.
I grew up in Belle Harbor, which is in New York City, but it has the most powerful sense of nature and seasons. It wasn't even the beach and the water. I just dreamt about everything that had to do with nature. I read about Thoreau.
Just as a new scientific discovery manifests something that was already latent in the order of nature, and at the same time is logically related to the total structure of the existing science, so the new poem manifests something that was already late...
I don't even drink! I can't stand the taste of alcohol. Every New Year's Eve I try one drink and every time it makes me feel sick. So I don't touch booze - I'm always the designated driver.
