In the pathway of the sun, In the footsteps of the breeze, Where the world and sky are one, He shall ride the silver seas, He shall cut the glittering wave. I shall sit at home, and rock; Rise, to heed a neighbor's knock; Brew my tea, and snip my thread; Bleach the linen for my bed. They will call him brave.

[To the British actor who annoyed her by repeated references to his busy 'shedule':] I think you're full of skit.

And I'll stay off Verlaine too; he was always chasing Rimbauds.

Sure, you make money writing on the coast ... but that money is like so much compressed snow. It goes so fast it melts in your hand.

It turns out that, at social gatherings, as a source of entertainment, conviviality, and good fun, I rank somewhere between a sprig of parsley and a single ice-skate.

Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.

A little bad taste is like a nice dash of paprika.