i want to ask the happiest person in the world whether it was worth it, all the sacrifices he made in order to become so happy. … faq.
“dear god,” she prayed,
“let me be something every minute of every hour of my life.
let me be gay;
let me be sad.
let me be cold;
let me be warm.
let me be hungry…
have too much to eat. … let me be
there were a series of closing kisses,
kisses placed like lids on boxes—
then the lid would pop off and need to be replaced.
there, this is the final kiss—
no this is the final kiss.
this one is, it really is.
and now i’m just kissing that kiss goodnight.
what a pity, lament the tycoon’s wives, to be forced to think about such ugly things at what is usually such a pretty part — what a shamefully dreary backdrop for their unspoilt red-soled shoes and their summer dolce, and their cluck–cluck catch-ups about the weather in st. barthes (lovely, of course — this type of year especially; where do you summer?); what a crashing bore to have to listen to talk about gulags, or war, or genocide, as it puts one off the canapés, rather, though the little salmon puffs are good. cynthia—i haven’t seen you since monaco! erica is debuting her latest nose, and the atmosphere is fractious. … all the world’s future reveals itself to be