I stumbled out into the courtyard to try to flee my misery, but of course we can never flee the misery that is within us.

When I awoke it was daylight. The inside of my tent was coated in a curious flaky rime, which I realized after a moment was all of my nighttime snores, condensed and frozen and pasted to the fabric, as if into a scrapbook of respiratory memories.

I&#39;ve turned down a lot of arena dates because I&#39;ve done the big-arena thing. Now, I want to do something where people can feel me and I can feel them.

She was like some rare flower grown for exhibition, a flower from which every bud had been nipped except the crowning blossom of her beauty.

Written By Edith Wharton

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