I Have Tried," I Said, "but He

There Is No Doubt That Running Away On A Fresh, Blue Morning Can Be Exhilarating.

All Of Writing Is A Huge Lake. There Are Great Rivers That Feed The Lake, Like Tolstoy Or Dostoyevsky. And Then There Are Mere Trickles, Like Jean Rhys. All That Matters Is Feeding The Lake. I Don't Matter. The Lake Matters. You Must Keep Feeding The Lake.

I Often Want To Cry. That Is The Only Advantage Women Have Over Men — At Least They Can Cry.

Soon He'll Come In Again And Kiss Me, But Differently. He'll Be Different And So I'll Be Different. It'll Be Different. I Thought, 'it'll Be Different, Different. It Must Be Different.

If All Good, Respectable People Had One Face, I'd Spit In It.