You won’t end up on Easy Street if you wear that hair-of-the-dog shirt.
No amount of rehearsed apology will get you to Carnegie Hall.
We’re bittersweet? Then let me count the ways, I mean, the petals.
O let me plant my kisses all along your neck of the woods.
You say you’ll be my mirror…You’re more like my indoor plunge pool.
When I finally looked you in the eye, sorrow skipped a beat.
7 a.m., looking eastward: Socked in the eye by a rose bouquet.
7 p.m.: My heart’s on ice. I’m buying that sunset a drink.... Read more
Karyn Kupcinet, Dorothy Kilgallen, and Mary Pinchot Meyer had little in common in life. In death, however, they share one particular indignity: having their untimely ends overshadowed by the ever-churning John F. Kennedy conspiracy machine.