Brendan Gill

Parody is homage gone sour.

It is in the nature of the New Yorker to be as topical as possible, on a level that is often small in scale and playful in intention.

I will try to cram these paragraphs full of facts and give them a weight and shape no greater than that of a cloud of blue butterflies.

Not a shred of evidence exists in favor of the idea that life is serious.

If it were better, it wouldn't be as good.