I Went To Collect The Few Personal

Voluptuaries, Consumed By Their Senses, Always Begin By Flinging Themselves With A Great Display Of Frenzy Into An Abyss. But They Survive, They Come To The Surface Again. And They Develop A Routine Of The Abyss: It's Four O Clock. At Five I Have My Abyss.

No One Asked You To Be Happy. Get To Work.

Sincerity Is Not A Spontaneous Flower Nor Is Modesty Either.

The Only Virtue On Which I Pride Myself Is My Self-doubt; When A Writer Loses Her Self-doubt, The Time Has Come To Lay Aside Her Pen.

I Have Found My Voice Again And The Art Of Using It.