Colson Whitehead

As if these daily humiliations and sacrifices mean something, are tallied by the ones who keep the books. Tomorrow we pick up where we left off. Sleep tight. Sleep deep. Sleep the sleep of the successful because somehow you made it through the day without anyone finding out that you are a complete fraud.

There will be no redemption because the men who run this place do not want redemption. They want to be as near to hell as they can.

It is failure that guides evolution; perfection provides no incentive for improvement, and nothing is perfect.

Maybe we become New Yorkers the day we realize that New York will go on without us.