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Well, isn't Bohemia a place where everyone is as good as everyone else - and must not a waiter be a little less than a waiter to be a good Bohemian?

Djuna Barnes

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Djuna Barnes
Age: 90 †
Born: 1892
Born: June 12
Died: 1982
Died: June 18
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Cornwall on Hudson
New York
Lydia Steptoe
Place
Littles
Little
Bohemia
Wells
Bohemian
Well
Waiter
Must
Less
Good
Everyone
Else

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Life is painful, nasty and short.. in my case it has only been painful and nasty.
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I couldn't ever boil potatoes over the heat of your affection. Your love would never bridge a gap it wouldn't even fill up the hole that the mice came through.
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We are beginning to wonder whether a servant girl hasn't the best of it after all. She knows how the salad tastes without the dressing, and she knows how life's lived before it gets to the parlor door.
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Love is the first lie wisdom the last.
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The heart of the jealous knows the best and most satisfying love, that of the other's bed, where the rival perfects the lover's imperfections.
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One's life is peculiar to one's own when one has invented it.
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If Helen of Troy could have been seen eating peppermints out of a paper bag, it is highly probable that her admirers would have been an entirely different class.It is the thing you are found doing while the horde looks on that you shall be loved for - or ignored.
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When one wants to become cognizant of the color and the texture of the soil, one does not get a ladder one gets a shovel. When one wants to get into touch with the texture of the universal mind, one does not go to Boston one goes to the Bowery.
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We are but skin about a wind, with muscles clenched against mortality.
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And must I, perchance, like careful writers, guard myself against the conclusions of my readers?
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What is a ruin but time easing itself of endurance?
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Time is a great conference planning our end, and youth is only the past putting a leg forward.
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To think is to be sick.
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I'm a fart in a gale of wind, a humble violet under a cow pat.
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I have a narrative, but you will be put to it to find it.
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To love without criticism is to be betrayed.
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Sleep demands of us a guilty immunity.
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The night is a skin pulled over the head of day that the day may be in torment.
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No man needs curing of his individual sickness his universal malady is what he should look to.
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There's something evil in me that loves evil and degradation--purity's black backside! That loves honesty with a horrid love or why have I always gone seeking it at the liar's door?
Djuna Barnes