I Am Alone Here In New York,

Memory - The Very Skin Of Life.

They Had Created Themselves Together, And They Always Saw Themselves, Their Youth, Their Love, Their Lost Youth And Lost Love, Their Failures And Memories, As A Sort Of Living Fiction.

Now, My Novel Begins. No, Now I Begin My Novel—and Yet I Cannot Decide Whether To Call Myself I Or She.

[on Sociability In Italy:] You May Be A Hermit Or An Innkeeper.

When You Travel Your First Discovery Is That You Do Not Exist.