Pity Is An Agreeable Sentiment, Uplifting Like

A Dress Makes No Sense Unless It Inspires Men To Take It Off Of You.

I Dreamt Of Being A Writer Once I Started To Read. I Started To Write 'bonjour Tristesse' In Bistros Around The Sorbonne. I Finished It, I Sent It To Editors. It Was Accepted.

I Was Thinking That I Should Be Content To Kiss Him Until The Break Of Day. Bertrand Ran Out Of Kisses Too Soon; Desire Made Them Superfluous In His Eyes. They Were Only A Stage On The Road To Pleasure, Not Something Inexhaustible And Self-sufficient, As Luc Had Revealed Them To Me.

He Lifted Me Up And Held Me Close Against Him, My Head On His Shoulder. At That Moment I Loved Him. In The Morning Light He Was As Golden, As Soft, As Gentle As Myself, And He Would Protect Me.

I Feel Sorry For Men. They Have More Problems Than Women, Because They Now Have To Compete With Women.