“There was nothing separate about her days. Like drops on the window-pane, they ran together and trickled away.” ― Dorothy Parker

Paul Wonner,  To Flora, 1985.

The Evening Primrose - Poem by Dorothy Parker

You know the bloom, unearthly white,

That none has seen by morning light-

The tender moon, alone, may bare

Its beauty to the secret air.

Who'd venture past its dark retreat

Must kneel, for holy things and sweet,

That blossom, mystically blown,

No man may gather for his own

Nor touch it, lest it droop and fall....

Oh, I am not like that at all!