“So c-o-o-o-old” is what the voice in Bobby Nyson’s head had screamed after the ice splintered beneath his feet. They’d been coming home from trick-or-treating when they’d come to the pond in the woods, the black layer of surface ice reflecting the rising harvest moon.

“Have you ever had a colonoscopy?” I asked. It was our second date, sitting in a cafe after the ballet. “I don’t know your age, but you are in the right neighborhood.” Barbara was stunned! “No,” she answered, “should I?”

He found her sleeping in the garden at the base of the Belvedere steps, the theater buzzing with pre-show activity. She awoke immediately and smiled up at him. “Come,” she said. He followed her up the stairs to the castle, the landing dotted with tourists posing for each other. She walked beneath the gazebo to the railing and stretched out her...

Every June, Jameson celebrated the end to another school year by waiting in line for Shakespeare in the Park tickets. He had an entire morning to stretch out on a newspaper and consider a new life. He received his tickets by noon and then wandered the city until the evening performance at 8. The summer was his until the first back-to-school...

Strange, isn’t it, that two dedicated psychotherapists with criminal pasts would wind up helping hundreds of patients? We tend to see good people as essentially good, and bad people as stripped of decency. These two men were complicated combinations not of good and evil, but of the circumstances that formed them. Though both are dead, I won’t...

I’ve never considered myself a particularly brave person. I’ve taken plenty of career risks and had some daring adventures, but when it comes to hazardous or physically dangerous activities like skiing, bungee-jumping, skydiving, or mountain-climbing, I watch from a safe distance.

“Masticate your food,” Uncle Moe said. He and Aunt Blanche had joined my parents, me, and my sister, Nina, on a vacation in the Catskills, at a place called the Vegetarian Hotel, which we had nicknamed “the Veggie.”
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Never had the Hamptons seemed more of a refuge to me than on that night. And never had I needed one more than I did that night.

A half-century ago, I took part in what could only be called a great experiment. Would deafening decibels of 55,000 screaming teenagers result in loss of hearing? Would Brownie camera flashbulbs simultaneously popping off cause little black dots to impair my vision by being forever affixed before my eyes?

My wife and I bought our first house in the early 1960s and quickly found out that it was too small. We decided to have an extra room added that would serve as our master bedroom.

Janice’s feet were in the stirrups and a sheet was covering her Brazilian waxed parts when she asked her gynecologist, “Why do I feel like I want to join a nunnery? I’d rather go to the dentist than have sex.”

I had become interested in the old man in spite of his gruff manner. His words were like the newspapers reporting things that were important.