We will rise above the lies, the smears, the ludicrous slanders from ludicrous and very, very dishonest reporters.
Reporters at the New York Times, they're not journalists, they're corporate lobbyists for Carlos Slim and for Hillary Clinton.
Hundreds upon hundreds of news outlets - okay, thousands - are interested in following the happenings at the White House. Yet the number of news sources at the White House - people who know what's happening - is finite. Dozens maybe. With that imbalance hanging over the enterprise, it's hard for a group of reporters competing against one another to secure the upper hand.
The press today is full of people who are not qualified and not trying very hard to be good reporters.
The difference between our collective generation and your generation (differentiating the reporters from the students) is that we poured our souls out on paper that got easily yellowed and lost. The danger is that many of your friends (nodding at the students) are putting intimate ideas in cyberspace journals. So when today's 15-year-old is 40, some friend is going to drag out all of that idiotic stuff at their class reunion.
Essentially, there is no media, folks. There just isn't any media in the sense that there are reporters out there uncovering things you and I don't know and telling us what they are.
As long as American democracy remains healthy, there will be reporters willing to pursue the truth, even if that means incurring the wrath of the most powerful person in the world.
The archives recall not one single incriminating incident, not one drunken escapade, not one reported affair, not one spat with a team-mate or reporter - As Matthew Parris wondered of Barack Obama in these pages recently, is he human?
There is an obligation both moral, but also legal, I believe, against a reporter disclosing something which would so severely compromise national security.
Perhaps the dumbest of these story lines is that [Pope] Francis has re-opened conversation and debate in a Church that had been closed and claustrophobic for 35 years under John Paul II and Benedict XVI. I defy anyone who, over the last 35 years, has spent time on the campuses of Notre Dame or Georgetown, or who has read the National Catholic Reporter, or who has gone to a meeting of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, to make that claim without experiencing a twinge of conscience that says, "I should wash my mouth out with soap."
Reporters are faced with the daily choice of painstakingly researching stories or writing whatever people tell them. Both approaches pay the same.
I told [reporters] that I sprinkled marijuana on my organic buckwheat pancakes, and then when I ran my five miles to the ballpark, it made me impervious to the bus fumes. That's when [Baseball Commissioner] Bowie Kuhn took me off his Christmas list.
There aren't enough good journalists. There are too many who really weren't groomed to be reporters and, as a result, some of the reporting is shallow.
Why not just tell people I'm an alien from Mars. Tell them I eat live chickens and do a voodoo dance at midnight. They'll believe anything you say, because you're a reporter. But if I, Michael Jackson, were to say, 'I'm an alien from Mars and I eat live chickens and do a voodoo dance at midnight', people would say, 'Oh, man, that Michael Jackson is nuts. He's cracked up. You can't believe a damn word that comes out of his mouth.
Read like a detective and write like a conscientious investigative reporter.
I was a news reporter for 16 years, seven of them a foreign correspondent in the Middle East, Africa and the Balkans. Perhaps the most useful equipment I acquired in that time is a lack of preciousness about the act of writing. A reporter must write. There must be a story. The 'mot juste' unarriving? Tell that to your desk.
The illustrator is essentially a reporter: his subjects come from the outside, lit by a flash. A subject comes to the classical artist from inside, and when he discovers confirmation of it in the outside world he feels that it has been there all the time.
I think that we need to be careful, as reporters and as journalists, not to take the bait and not to get into an endless discussion about issues that are trivial.
I see a pretty bright line between analysis and opinion. And so, to that end, my goal on Friday nights is to try to assemble the smartest reporters who are available to me that week who have been involved in covering the news.
Given my calling I had to stumble across people who felt the same way. I was a young reporter.
It used to be that conservatives who were in government, like myself, we would get what we felt was unfair coverage, we'd go home, we would grumble, we would complain about it, but we actually wouldn't say anything to the reporter or to the reporters while they're asking us additional questions.
The Donald Trump I knew as a young reporter in New York was nothing if not media friendly. And for most of the past Republican primary, he was the most accessible major candidate. No one else was close.
I've reported in countries where leaders not only complain about a critical press, but also try to shut it down, throwing reporters in prison or worse. I've seen my colleagues risk their lives and, with increasing frequency, lose their lives in their pursuit of the truth. We are not about to stop doing our jobs because yet another president is unhappy with what he reads or hears or sees on TV news. There is a reason the founders put freedom of the press in the very first amendment to the Constitution.
It doesn't upset me when people are annoyed or bothered by what may seem to them as a redundancy of topics about blacks and Latinos. As a reporter I welcome those types of conversations and dialogues. Even when it's uncomfortable, it's still necessary.
The image of the reporter as a nicotine-stained Quixote, slugging back Scotch while skewering city hall with an expose ripped out of a typewriter on the crack of deadline, persists despite munificent evidence to the contrary.
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