The problem with living in an apartment you love in every respect except its location (and maybe its rent) is that in order to move to a better location, you have to give up something you’ve already got. I feel like if I move, I’m either going to have to live with a stranger, or live on a crappy street, or live in a smaller, uglier space, or all three.

I almost wish I didn’t live in such a great place now, so that I wouldn’t have to give something up. That sounds weird.

Damn this government salary.

If a tornado would just lift my apartment, carry it across the Hudson River, and gently set it down in either the West Village or brownstone Brooklyn, I’d be as happy as a clam.

Unfortunately, there is no such thing as a gentle tornado.

Maybe whatever I’m giving up is just temporary, and some day I’ll have a higher salary and can live in an apartment as charming as the one I have now, and in a great location.

Or maybe I’ll just keep looking.

An example of why I love the book I’m reading:

There have been some differences among the authorities on the question of James McHenry’s competence as Secretary of War. The most recent judgment appears to be that his performance was not as bad as has been claimed, though of course such words if carved in marble would do little to immortalize anyone.

And this too about McHenry:

Distinction on his own independent merits was a thing always a step or two beyond him, and one of the many attractive traits of his character was the grace with which he seems to have understood this. Insidership was thus a fully acceptable, and indeed indispensable, functional substitute.

I love this book.
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