Each Day My Reason Tells Me So;

Birth Is Nothing Where Virtue Is Not

Cover That Bosom That I Must Not See: Souls Are Wounded By Such Things.

Writing Is Like Prostitution. First You Do It For Love, And Then For A Few Close Friends, And Then For Money.

Ah! How Annoying That The Law Doesn't Allow A Woman To Change Husbands Just As One Does Shirts.

We Die Only Once, And For Such A Long Time.