Los Angeles: Seventy-two suburbs in search of a city.
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.
Hold your pen and spare your voice.
Hollywood money isn't money. It's congealed snow, melts in your hand, and there you are.
If love is blind, why is lingerie so popular?
Her mind lives tidily, apart from cold and noise and pain. And bolts the door against her heart, out wailing in the rain.