I Have Been Loved,' She Said, 'by

Well, Isn't Bohemia A Place Where Everyone Is As Good As Everyone Else - And Must Not A Waiter Be A Little Less Than A Waiter To Be A Good Bohemian?

Life, The Permission To Know Death.

I Am Not A Critic; To Me Criticism Is So Often Nothing More Than The Eye Garrulously Denouncing The Shape Of The Peephole That Gives Access To Hidden Treasure.

She Was Nervous About The Future; It Made Her Indelicate. She Was One Of The Most Unimportantly Wicked Women Of Her Time --because She Could Not Let Her Time Alone, And Yet Could Never Be A Part Of It. She Wanted To Be The Reason For Everything And So Was The Cause Of Nothing. She Had The Fluency Of Tongue And Action Meted Out By Divine Providence To Those Who Cannot Think For Themselves. She Was The Master Of The Over-sweet Phrase, The Over-tight Embrace.

The Night Is A Skin Pulled Over The Head Of Day That The Day May Be In Torment.