Over coffee and orange juice the embryonic suicide brightens visibly.

You walked in, laughing, tears welling confused, mingling in your throat. How can you be so many women to so many people, oh you strange girl?

My wanting to write books annihilates the original root impulse that would have me bravely and blunderingly working on them.

I felt wise and cynical as all hell.

Eternity bores me, I never wanted it.

When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn’t know. "Oh, sure you know," the photographer said. "She wants," said Jay Cee wittily, "to be everything.

I, to you, am lost in the gorgeous errors of flesh.