Most people are on the world, not in it—have no conscious sympathy or relationship to anything about them—undiffused, separate, and rigidly alone like marbles of polished stone, touching but separate.

Love is grand; divorce is a hundred grand.

Life's a bitch. Then you marry one.

I am a marvelous housekeeper. Every time I leave a man, I keep his house.

Such silence has an actual sound, the sound of disappearance.