Every time we hit an air pocket and the plane dropped about five hundred feet (leaving my stomach in my mouth) I vowed to give up sex, bacon, and air travel if I ever made it back to terra firma in one piece.

The future is merely a shadow which blocks out the joys of the present and emphasizes the miseries of the past.

Venice, that capital city of dream and intrigue, that double city (one above and seemingly solid, one below, wavering and reflected in the waters), which never disappoints.

Friends love misery, in fact. Sometimes, especially if we are too lucky or too successful or too pretty, our misery is the only thing that endears us to our friends.

the unconscious of an artist is her greatest treasure. It is what transmutes the dross of autobiography into the gold of myth.

Turning fifty ... is like flying: hours of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror.

The Lives of Great Men are more oft' at variance with their profess'd Phillosophies than consistent with 'em.