Joe and Jojo and I had lovely day together. I love Joe so much – more and more.
The human comedy is always tragic, but since its ingredients are always the same – dupe, fox, straight, like burlesque skits – the repetition through the ages is comedy.
I want so much for my lover. At night when our beds are drawn close together I waken and see his dear yellow head on the pillow – sometimes his arm thrown over on my bed – and I kiss his hand, very softly so that it will not waken him.
Yet better for one of my nature to have it that way than to have life a peaceful, placid flow of quiet contentment. I must have days of rushing excitement.
A novel is like a gland pill – it nips off the cream of my hysterics and gets them running on track in a book where they belong instead of rioting all over my person.
A capacity for going overboard is a requisite for a full-grown mind.
Satire is people as they are; romanticism, people as they would like to be; realism, people as they seem with their insides left out.
The basis of tragedy is man’s helplessness against disease, war and death; the basis of comedy is man’s helplessness against vanity (the vanity of love, greed, lust, power).
I think we will have a boy baby and he will be born on the 20th of August. Everyone else has a girl baby and at times I don’t believe I should mind having a little Phyllis Dawn but Dearest wants a boy and I do.