I Believe In A Magnificent

This Is A Nice Metaphor, Too, About Mothers And Daughters - That When It Came Time For Me To Make My Own, I Was Making A Completely Different Garden Than The One That My Mom Has. They Don't Look Like They Came From Relatives. Hers Is A Very Productive And Pragmatic Vegetable Garden, And Mine Is A Ridiculous Overabundance Of Useless Plants. It Doesn't Feed Anybody, It Doesn't Serve Any Purpose.

Now, If You Are Like Me - If You Are Like Practically Anybody In America - Then You Probably Hold Some Negative Opinions About The French, Based Upon Movies, Rumors, Recent Headlines, Unfortunate Run-ins With Parisian Waiters, Or... You Know... All That Unpleasantness Surrounding The Vichy Regime.

To My Taste, The Men In Rome Are Ridiculously, Hurtfully, Stupidly Beautiful. More Beautiful Even Than Roman Women, To Be Honest. Italian Men Are Beautiful In The Same Way As French Women, Which Is To Say-- No Detail Spared In The Quest For Perfection. They’re Like Show Poodles. Sometimes They Look So Good I Want To Applaud.

You Have To Work Ceaselessly On Your End To Digest And Imbibe Your Opportunities Or, I Have Come To Believe, They Will Gradually Slip Away And Knock On Someone Else's More Receptive Door.

I Never Promised The Universe That I Would Write Brilliantly; I Only Promised The Universe That I Would Write.