I'm So Secluded. Very Alone.

My Name Will Be Written In Fiery Letters On The Champs Elysees.

I Pass For A Hypersensitive, Reclusive Neurotic, Which I May Well Be, But I Hope The Year Won't Come When My Anxieties And Fatigue Will Destroy My Love Of This Life, Of All The Things That Inspire Me--a Line Of Music, A Face In A Vermeer Portrait, A Character In An Opera, Or A Model Born In Harlem.

I Love Bows, … And I Feel Some Couture Pots Coming On.

The Most Beautiful Clothes That Can Dress A Woman Are The Arms Of The Man She Loves. But For Those Who Haven't Had The Fortune Of Finding This Happiness, I Am There.

We Must Never Confuse Elegance With Snobbery.