A typical Christmas is me shucking oysters. I love them and I always get them in at Christmas.

Ten percent of the big fish still remain. There are still some blue whales. There are still some krill in Antarctica. There are a few oysters in Chesapeake Bay. Half the coral reefs are still in pretty good shape a jeweled belt around the middle of the planet. There's still time but not a lot to turn things around.

I will not eat oysters. I want my food dead. Not sick. Not wounded. Dead.

Most of those who make collections of verse or epigram are like men eating cherries or oysters: they choose out the best at first and end by eating all.

Right after 'Raymond' I had a world-is-my-oyster attitude but I found out I don't like oysters. I had this existential emptiness. 'What is my purpose? Who am I?' I had a big identity crisis.