"The writer doesn’t write for the reader. He doesn’t write for himself, either. He writes to serve…something. Somethingness. The somethingness that is sheltered by the wings of nothingness — those exquisite, enveloping, protecting wings."

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I think that's what so exquisite and unique about New York, it's a city that allows you to hone your craft as much as possible. There is no good or bad, somehow, strangely, there is no beginning or end. You certainly qualify it with the opening or closing of a run, but what's extraordinary is that you are actually allowed to be an artist here. It's very "belle époque," but somehow continually. That's why I love New York so much, honestly.

— Nina Arianda