It is perhaps an ugly comment on the American press, but the function — Joseph Mitchell (writer)

"Im immune to the average germ; dont even catch colds; havent had a cold since 1912. Only reason I caught that one, I went on a toot and it was a pouring-down rainy night in the dead of winter and my shoes were cracked and they let the damp in and I lost my balance a time or two and sloshed around in the gutter and somewhere along the line I mislaid my hat and Id just had a haircut and I stood in a draft in one saloon an hour or more and there was a poor fellow next to me sneezing his head off and when I got home I crawled into a bed that was beside an open window like a fool and passed out with my wet clothes on, shoes and all. Also, Id spent the night before sitting up on a train and hadnt slept a wink and my resistance was low. If the good Lord can just see His way clear to protect me from accidents, no stumbling on the stairs, no hell-fired automobiles bearing down on me in the dark, no broken bones, Ill hit a hundred and fifteen easy."

"He had a habit of remarking to bartenders that he didn’t see any sense in mixing whiskey with water, since the whiskey was already wet."

"All information of a spiritual or personal nature will have to come from our father, who art in Heaven, and I think hes in New York City right now."

"Ive made quite a study of fish cooks," Mr. Flood says, "and I’ve decided that old Italians are best. Then comes old colored men, then old mean Yankees, and then old drunk Irishmen. They have to be old; it takes almost a lifetime to learn how to do a thing simply. Even the stove has to be old. If the cook is an awful drunk, so much the better. I don’t think a teetotaler could cook a fish. If he was a mean teetotaler, he might."

"The trembly fellow sighed and said, "Im all out of whack. Im going uptown and see my doctor." Mr. Flood snorted again. "Oh, shut up," he said. "Damn your doctor! I tell you what you do. You get right out of here and go over to Libby’s oyster house and tell the man you want to eat some of his big oysters. Don’t sit down. Stand up at that fine marble bar they got over there, where you can watch the man knife them open. And tell him you intend to drink the oyster liquor; hell knife them on the cup shell, so the liquor wont spill. And be sure you get the big ones. Get them so big youll have to rear back to swallow, the size that most restaurants use for fries and stews; God forgive them, they dont know any better. Ask for Robbins Islands, Mattitucks, Cape Cods, or Saddle Rocks. And dont put any of that red sauce on them, that cocktail sauce, that mess, that gurry. Ask the man for half a lemon, poke it a time or two to free the juice, and squeeze it over the oysters. And the first one he knifes, pick it up and smell it, the way youd smell a rose, or a shot of brandy. That briny, seaweedy fragrance will clear your head; itll make your blood run faster. And dont just eat six; take your time and eat a dozen, eat two dozen, eat three dozen, eat four dozen. And then leave the man a generous tip and go buy yourself a fifty-cent cigar and put your hat on the side of your head and take a walk down to Bowling Green. Look at the sky! Isnt it blue? And look at the girls a-tap-tap-tapping past on their pretty little feet! Arent they just the finest girls you ever saw, the bounciest, the rumpiest, the laughingest? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself for even thinking about spending good money on a damned doctor? And along about here, you better be careful. Youre apt to feel so bucked-up youll slap strangers on the back, or kick a window in, or fight a cop, or jump on the tailboard of a truck and steal a ride."

"I was sneezing my head off, my eyes were sore, my knees were shaky, I was hungry as a bitch wolf, and I had exactly eight cents to my name. I didn’t care. My history was longer by eleven thousand brand-new words, and at that moment I bet there wasn’t a chairman of the board in all New York as happy as I."