A friend reminded me of this quote from Dorothy Parker today.
“What fresh hell is this?”
She used to say that when answering the phone. She was groovy, strong and wild, beneath her skin.
I’ve posted some favorites for my friend who has never read Ms. Parker.
I do not like my state of mind;
I’m bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn’s recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the simplest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I’m disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I’d be arrested.
I am not sick. I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore:
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men.
I’m due to fall in love again.
Say my love is easy had,
Say I’m bitten raw with pride,
Say I am too often sad —
Still behold me at your side.
Say I’m neither brave nor young,
Say I woo and coddle care,
Say the devil touched my tongue —
Still you have my heart to wear.
But say my verses do not scan,
And I get me another man!
Some men break your heart in two,
Some men fawn and flatter,
Some men never look at you;
And that clears up the matter.
Into love, and out again,
Thus I went, and thus I go.
Spare your voice, and hold your pen —
Well and bitterly I know
All the songs were ever sung,
All the words were ever said;
Could it be, when I was young,
Some one dropped me on my head?
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.