A Dress Makes No Sense Unless It

I Dreamt Of Being A Writer Once I Started To Read. I Started To Write 'bonjour Tristesse' In Bistros Around The Sorbonne. I Finished It, I Sent It To Editors. It Was Accepted.

I Was Thinking That I Should Be Content To Kiss Him Until The Break Of Day. Bertrand Ran Out Of Kisses Too Soon; Desire Made Them Superfluous In His Eyes. They Were Only A Stage On The Road To Pleasure, Not Something Inexhaustible And Self-sufficient, As Luc Had Revealed Them To Me.

If You Treat Life Well, Life Is Usually Good To You. And I Love Life. There's A Long-standing Affair Between Us.

After Proust, There Are Certain Things That Simply Cannot Be Done Again. He Marks Off For You The Boundaries Of Your Talent.

I Did Not Find Him Absurd. I Saw He Was Kind, That He Was On The Verge Of Real Love. I Thought It Would Be Nice For Me To Be In Love With Him, Too.