He Lifted Me Up And Held Me

I Recognize Limitations In The Sense That I've Read Tolstoy And Dostoyevsky And Shakespeare . . . Aside From That I Don't Think Of Limiting Myself.

It Isn't Common Sense That Is Paramount In This World, It's Wishful Thinking.

The One Thing I Regret Is That I Will Never Have Time To Read All The Books I Want To Read.

A Strange Melancholy Pervades Me To Which I Hesitate To Give The Grave And Beautiful Name Of Sorrow. The Idea Of Sorrow Has Always Appealed To Me But Now I Am Almost Ashamed Of It's Complete Egoism. I Have Known Boredom, Regret, And Occasionally Remorse, But Never Sorrow. Today It Envelops Me Like A Silken Web, Enervating And Soft, And Sets Me Apart From Everybody Else.

No One Is More Conventional Than A Woman Who Is Falling Out Of Love.