I have been to lots of parties and acted perfectly disgraceful but I never actually collapsed oh Lana Turner we love you get up

You just go on your nerve.

Each time my heart is broken it makes me feel more adventurous (and how the same names keep recurring on that interminable list!), but one of these days there'll be nothing left with which to venture forth. Why should I share you? Why don't you get rid of someone else for a change?

O my enormous piano, you are not like being outdoors

The poem is at last between two persons instead of two pages. In all modesty, I confess that it may be the death of literature as we know it.

I've got to get out of here. I choose a piece of shawl and my dirtiest suntans. I'll be back, I'll re-emerge, defeated, from the valley; you don't want me to go where you go, so I go where you don't want me to.

Grace / to be born and live as variously as possible