She destroys reality; her lies are not lies, they are roles she wants to live out. She has made greater efforts than everyone I know to live out her illusions. When she told you that her mother had died, that she never knew her father, that she was illegitimate, she wanted to begin nowhere, to begin without roots, to plunge into invention. Anyone could be her father. She loved the suspense, the possible surprise. She did not want to be classified, she did not want to be associated with any race, nationality or background either. Her pallor, her upward curving eyebrows, her cape, her jewelry, her destruction of the boundary lines between night and day, her hatred of sunlight, are all escapes from rigid patterns.