Dead Men Tell No Tales,

When The Leaves Rustle, They Sound Very Much Like The Stealthy Movement Of A Woman In Evening Dress, And When They Shiver Suddenly, And Fall, And Scatter Away Along The Ground, They Might Be The Patter Of A Woman’s Hurrying Footsteps, And The Mark In The Gravel The Imprint Of A High-heeled Shoe.

There's Something About Paris That Gives You A Mental Slap All The Time, And You Can't Just Sit Still And Do Nothing. You've Got To Work, To Keep Up With The Pace, The Sting In The Atmosphere.

I Could Not Ask Forgiveness For Something I Had Not Done. As Scapegoat, I Could Only Bear The Fault.

Last Night I Dreamt I Went To Manderley Again.

I Have No Talent For Making New Friends, But Oh Such Genius For Fidelity To Old Ones.