From Pierson chapter:
When Pierson goes to the symphony, he always puts cotton in his ears to block out the bad notes. If things get worse, and more bad notes get into his ears, he will stuff in more and more cotton until, at last, perfection is achieved.
"From the tiny mustard seed comes the mighty oak."
From Dancing chapter:
Pierson's dancing style was as versatile as it was unique; his bottom swore revolution and civil unrest, while the top of him voted Republican.
From Theater chapter:
Then if you dim the lights a little, she will walk through a canvas wall or loopy-loop over a couch. Actresses and actors lose their stage presence in the dark without all those bright and colored lights, and they don't play anybody but themselves.
From New York City chapter:
At times, a person will see a construction crew putting the finishing touches on a skyscraper's top nine stories while a demolition crew is irrepressibly gnawing on that same building at street level. This goes on while the tenants are peaceably occupying the middle forty-seven floors, contented and oblivious to the war of trades that rages in equal extremes.
The poet says, "You can't go home again." New York City demolition crews are the reason why.
From Freight Trains chapter:
One second I was perfecting the art of self-levitation, and the next second my bottom four vertebrae and the car's oaken decking were occupying the same space, becoming one as it were.
Then the car took a turn of mind again and I was flung up in the air free from the mundane influences of gravity. Then I came down and there came a terrible crushing and gnashing of bone again, alternating with Icarus-like flights, until I was flipped to the center of the car.
And all this started just quietly and imperceptibly as a campaign for county clerk.