I'll think about something else. I'll just sit quietly. If I could sit still. If I could sit still, maybe I could read. Oh, all the books are about people who love each other, truly and sweetly. What do they want to write about that for? Don't they know it isn't true? Don't they know it's a lie, it's a God-damned lie? What do they have to tell about that for, when they know how it hurts?

Hold your pen and spare your voice.

I shudder at the thought of men.... I'm due to fall in love again

Excuse me, everybody, I have to go to the bathroom. I really have to telephone, but I'm too embarrassed to say so.

[On the ringing of her doorbell or telephone:] What fresh hell is this?

It's not the tragedies that kill us; it's the messes.

I don't want to review books any more. It cuts in too much on my reading.