There was nothing separate about her days. Like drops on the window-pane, they ran together and trickled away.

London is satisfied, Paris is resigned, but New York is always hopeful. Always it believes that something good is about to come off, and it must hurry to meet it.

By the time you swear you're his, Shivering and sighing. And he vows his passion is, Infinite, undying. Lady make note of this -- One of you is lying.

We were all imitative. We all wandered in after Miss Edna St. Vincent Millay. We were all being dashing and gallant, declaring we weren't virgins, whether we were or not.

Art is a form of catharsis emotional release, purging, cleansing, purifying.

[When asked what was the inspiration for most of her work:] Need of money, dear.

Everybody's got their troubles.