“Brevity is the soul of lingerie.”

“Salary is no object: I want only enough to keep body and soul apart.”

“Symptom RecitalI do not like my state of mind;I'm bitter, querulous, unkind.I hate my legs, I hate my hands,I do not yearn for lovelier lands.I dread the dawn's recurrent light;I hate to go to bed at night.I snoot at simple, earnest folk.I cannot take the gentlest joke.I find no peace in paint or type.My world is but a lot of tripe.I'm disillusioned, empty-breasted.For what I think, I'd be arrested.I am not sick, I am not well.My quondam dreams are shot to hell.My soul is crushed, my spirit sore;I do not like me any more.I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.I ponder on the narrow house.I shudder at the thought of men....I'm due to fall in love again.”

“I'm not a writer with a drinking problem, I'm a drinker with a writing problem.”

“If I should labor through daylight and dark,Consecrate, valorous, serious, true,Then on the world I may blazon my mark;And what if I don't, and what if I do?”

“Travel, trouble, music, art, a kiss, a frock, a rhyme --I never said they feed my heart, but still they pass my time.”

“If wild my breast and sore my pride,I bask in dreams of suicide,If cool my heart and high my headI think 'How lucky are the dead.”