Sincerity Is Not A Spontaneous Flower Nor

I Believe There Are More Urgent And Honorable Occupations Than The Incomparable Waste Of Time We Call Suffering.

At The Top Of The Iron Staircase Leading To The Stage, The Good, Dry, Dusty Warmth Wraps Me Round Like A Comfortable Dirty Cloak.

We Only Do Well The Things We Like Doing.

My True Friends Have Always Given Me That Supreme Proof Of Devotion, A Spontaneous Aversion For The Man I Loved.

A Pretty Little Collection Of Weaknesses And A Terror Of Spiders Are Our Indispensable Stock-in-trade With The Men...