D.V

There’s only one thing in life, and that’s the continual renewal of inspiration.

The back, you know, is the most important part of your body. I’m never tired at the end of a day—never. It’s because of the way I sit. At the Metropolitan Museum I have the same kitchen chair I used to have at Vogue. They sent it to me because nobody else would ever use such a hideous-looking thing in their swell offices—but it supports me at the base of my back, and that’s what’s important. Then, I have a little rubber cushion which gets me right at the end of my spine and keeps me straight up, up, up. Everyone who comes into my office at the Metropolitan thinks the cushion looks a bit medical—well, it is; you buy it at a drugstore—but for me, it means that I sit straight and high, and it’s marvelous.

tearing cigarettes apart…

“The problem with you, dollface”—that’s what he always calls me—“is that your whole world is nostalgic.”
“Listen, Swifty,” I said, “we all have our own ways of making a living, so shut up!”

Nostalgia—imagine! I don’t believe in anything before penicillin.

Then I punched him in the nose. He was quite startled. He picked up a china plate and put it under his dinner jacket to protect his heart. So I took a punch at the china plate!
Nostalgia

So many things are said in this world, and in the end it makes no difference.

What these magazines gave was a point of view. Most people haven’t got a point of view; they need to have it given to them—and what’s more, they expect it from you.

Talk one line in French and the whole inside of your face moves, whereas the English language leaves you a bit slack. I’ll give you an example: Look in the mirror. Now say “Ché-rie!” Did you see what your face just did? Did you see all the exercise you got? Now try “Dear.” No exercise there. You’re really on a dead horse.

Wash your blond child’s hair in dead champagne, as they do in France.