I don't ask for the meaning of the song of a bird or the rising of the sun on a misty morning. There they are, and they are beautiful.

The best newspapermen I know are those most thrilled by the daily pump of city room excitements; they long fondly for a "good murder"; they pray that assassinations, wars, catastrophes break on their editions.

Say what you will about him . . . Ed Koch is still the best show in town.

It's odd being an American now. Most of us are peaceful, but here we are again, in our fifth major war of this century.

He steps on stage and draws the sword of rhetoric, and when he is through, someone is lying wounded and thousands of others are either angry or consoled.