In New York, I Find

Love Is The Extra Effort We Make In Our Dealings With Those Whom We Do Not Like And Once You Understand That, You Understand All. This Idea That Love Overtakes You Is Nonsense. This Is But A Polite Manifestation Of Sex. To Love Another You Have To Undertake Some Fragment Of Their Destiny.

Sex Is The Last Refuge Of The Miserable.

Even A Monotonously Undeviating Path Of Self-examination Does Not Necessarily Lead To Self-knowledge. I Stumble Towards My Grave Confused And Hurt And Hungry.

Most Men When They Make Up Their Faces, The Makeup Stands Forward, And Their Faces Are Behind.

I Have Come To Think That Both Sex And Politics Are A Mistake And That Any Attempt To Establish A Connection Between The Two Is The Greatest Error Of All.