A Woman Who Thinks She

As For An Authentic Villain, The Real Thing, The Absolute, The Artist, One Rarely Meets Him Even Once In A Lifetime. The Ordinary Bad Hat Is Always In Part A Decent Fellow.

There Are Days When Solitude, For Someone My Age, Is A Heady Wine That Intoxicates You With Freedom, Others When It Is A Bitter Tonic, And Still Others When It Is A Poison That Makes You Beat Your Head Against The Wall.

Sincerity Is Not A Spontaneous Flower Nor Is Modesty Either.

We Only Do Well The Things We Like Doing.

Our Perfect Companions Never Have Fewer Than Four Feet.