There’s the case of the calendar nude—and the riddle of my plunging necklines. These are the things that set the critics on my trail and raise the question . . ....
If you fall flat on our face, at least you’re trying. It’s murder to just sit back and dream. You may wake up with a blank future, says George Nader...
Everyone dies alone. Everyone thrashes alone in the darkness until even the thrashing stops and all there is is darkness. For each his own separate darkness. But she died alone as only crippled men in charity wards die, whose wives and friends and children are...