The Purpose Of Life On

I Wish We Could Spend July By The Sea, Browning Ourselves And Feeling Water-weighted Hair Flow Behind Us From A Dive. I Wish Our Gravest Concerns Were The Summer Gnats. I Wish We Were Hungry For Hot Dogs And Dopes, And It Would Be Nice To Smell The Starch Of Summer Linens And The Faint Odor Of Talc In Blistering Summer Bath Houses ... We Could Lie In Long Citoneuse Beams Of The Five O'clock Sun On The Plage At Juan-les-pins And Hear The Sound Of The Drum And Piano Being Scooped Out To Sea By The Waves.

Death Is The Only Real Elegance.

Women Sometimes Seem To Share A Quiet, Unalterable Dogma Of Persecution That Endows Even The Most Sophisticated Of Them With The Inarticulate Poignancy Of The Peasant.

Nobody Has Ever Been Able To Experience What They Have Thoroughly Understood - Or Understand What They Have Experienced Until They Have Achieved A Detachment That Renders Them Incapable Of Repeating The Experience.

It's Terrible To Allow Conventional Habits To Gain A Hold On A Whole Household; To Eat, Sleep And Live By Clock Ticks.