There must be a magnificent disregard of your reader, for if he cannot follow you, there is nothing you can do about it.

Ducking for apples -- change one letter and it's the story of my life.

[Requesting her epitaph to read this way:] Excuse my dust.

Be you wise and never sad, You will get your lovely lad. Never serious be, nor true, And your wish will come to you-- And if that makes you happy, kid, You'll be the first it ever did.

My verses, I cannot say poems. . . . I was following in the exquisite footsteps of Miss Millay, unhappily in my own horrible sneakers.

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.

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