I might repeat to myself, slowly and soothingly, a list of quotations beautiful from minds profound; if I can remember any of the damn things.

I require only three things of a man. He must be handsome, ruthless and stupid.

I'm never going to accomplish anything; that's perfectly clear to me. I'm never going to be famous. My name will never be writ large on the roster of Those Who Do Things. I don't do anything. Not one single thing. I used to bite my nails, but I don't even do that any more.

She is not a writer at all, really; she is merely a gifted eccentric.

But there are still the hours, aren't there? One and then another, and you get through that one and then, my god, there's another.