“

After class, a Haitian girl asked me to look at her poetry, and then a black girl came in and started crying and explained that her uncle, whom she lives with, had locked her in the house for days because he flew into a rage when she asked him for money for books. “It’ll be all right,” I said, as I gingerly touched her shoulder.

“

It seems to me that the healthiest response to the question of a writer’s eventual renown came today from Pete Cherches over lunch at Dubrow’s Cafeteria: “I don’t care if I’m famous after I’m dead. I’d rather be famous now and forgotten when I’m dead.”

“

People seem very anxious. The extent of Reagan’s victory – and the Republicans’ sweep of the Senate – has surprised even the conservatives; some liberals are still shell-shocked. People who never talk about politics are now talking about politics, and that seems to me the worst sign of all.

“

Back in my room, we made love for hours. It was incredible: like they used to say in the Peter Paul Mounds Bar commercials, “indescribably delicious.”

“

When I started kissing her, I did not think about it, and when I was on top of her, I was beyond thought. Finally I asked the question a man should never ask: “Did you come?”

“

A friend of Leroy’s got a 98 on his high school English Regents. On the test, an essay question said, “Write a composition on your favorite place,” and he started his essay, “My favorite place is the vagina . . .”

“

There’s so much to do in life, and I don’t want to regret anything.

“

Finally, I went over to her house and she came downstairs wearing a pretty dress. She had spent the whole afternoon trying to look nice, and there I was, selfishly spoiling her evening.