There are times when images blow to fluff, and comparisons stiffen and shrivel.

Yet, as only New Yorkers know, if you can get through the twilight, you'll live through the night.

Somewhere, there, is an analogy, in a small way, if you have the patience for it. But I guess it isn't a very good anecdote. I'm better at animal stories.

There are times when images blow to fluff, and comparisons stiffen and shrivel.

Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch it and it darts away.

How do people go to sleep? I'm afraid I've lost the knack. I might try busting myself smartly over the temple with the night-light. 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.

Said of her husband on the day their divorce became final: Oh, don't worry about Alan. . . . Alan will always land on somebody's feet.