What fresh hell is this?
I’m never going to accomplish anything; that’s perfectly clear to me. I’m never going to be famous. My name will never be writ large on the roster of Those Who Do Things. I don’t do anything. Not one single thing. I used to bite my nails, but I don’t even do that any more.
I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.
I might repeat to myself, slowly and soothingly, a list of quotations beautiful from minds profound; if I can remember any of the damn things.
Take care of the luxuries and the necessities will take care of themselves.
You think You’re frightening me with Your hell, don’t You? You think Your hell is worse than mine.
The two most beautiful words in the English language are ’cheque enclosed.
I’ll be the way I was when I first met him. Then maybe he’ll like me again. I was always sweet, at first. Oh, it’s so easy to be sweet to people before you love them.
Daily dawns another day; I must up, to make my way. Though I dress and drink and eat, Move my fingers and my feet, Learn a little, here and there, Weep and laugh and sweat and swear, Hear a song, or watch a stage, Leave some words upon a page, Claim a foe, or hail a friend- Bed awaits me at the end.
My love runs by like a day in June, And he makes no friends of sorrows. He’ll tread his galloping rigadoon In the pathway of the morrows. He’ll live his days where the sunbeams start, Nor could storm or wind uproot him. My own dear love, he is all my heart, – And I wish somebody’d shoot him.
Never complain, never explain.
Like many a better one before me, I have gone down under the force of numbers, under the books and books and books that keep coming out and coming out and coming out, shoals of them, spates of them, flash floods of them, too blame many books, and no sign of an end.
But I give you my word, in the entire book there is nothing that cannot be said aloud in mixed company. And there is, also, nothing that makes you a bit the wiser. I wonder – oh, what will you think of me – if those two statements do not verge upon the synonymous.
For years I have been crouching in corners hissing small and ladylike anathema of Theodore Dreiser.
I know that ridicule may be a shield, but it is not a weapon.
She dreamed by day of never again putting on tight shoes, of never having to laugh and listen and admire, of never more being a good sport. Never.
The sweeter the apple, the blacker the core. Scratch a lover and find a foe!
The first thing I do in the morning is brush my teeth and sharpen my tongue.
I like to have a martini, Two at the very most. After three I’m under the table, after four I’m under my host.