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I don’t have a photograph, but you can have my footprints. They’re upstairs in my socks.

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Even the intellectual crowd will have none of me. Physically, I look like one of them. Graying at the temples, I walk with a slight limp and wear thic...more

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Bel Air, I am convinced, was laid out by some diabolic sadist who deliberately decided not to use a compass or a surveyor.

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With the possible exception of clothes, beauty salons and Frank Sinatra, there are few subjects all women agree upon.