I've given parties that have made Indian rajahs green with envy. I've had prima donnas break $10,000 engagements to come to my smallest dinners. When you were still playing button back in Ohio, I entertained on a cruising trip that was so much fun that I had to sink my yacht to make my guests go home.

Every act of life, from the morning toothbrush to the friend at dinner, became an effort. I hated the night when I couldn't sleep and I hated the day because it went toward night.

She was a mischief, and that was a satisfaction; no longer was she a huntress of corralled game

I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart.

For awhile after you quit Keats all other poetry seems to be only whistling or humming.

For the moment I can only cry out that I have lost my splendid mirage. Come back, come back, O glittering and white!

Cut out all these exclamation points. An exclamation point is like laughing at your own joke.