
She reviewed three books a week for a year, and continued to make occasional contributions until 1933....Parker's column helped to establish the New Yorker voice; wry, puckish, world-weary.
On a book she was finding hard to finish: "One of us, we know, is not functioning properly, and we dare not hope in our inferiority that it is the author".
Another of the many rereads I started months ago and have been reading on and off ever since. She and her work have always spoken to me, but I don‘t know if I‘ve ever identified with her personally through her poems quite as deeply as I do at this particular moment in my life. Then again, maybe with the really great writers you feel that all over again each time you read them.