Three years ago, the white hope of the theatre. Today, a mug. That's New York for you. Puts you on a Christmas tree, and then - the alley.

Despite all our toil and progress, the art of medicine still falls somewhere between trout casting and spook writing.

The honors Hollywood has for the writer are as dubious as tissue-paper cuff links.

A man nearly always loves for other reasons than he thinks. A lover is apt to be as full of secrets from himself as is the object of his love from him.

The movies are an eruption of trash that has lamed the American mind and retarded Americans from becoming cultured people.

Trying to determine what is going on in the world by reading newspapers is like trying to tell the time by watching the second hand of a clock.

He was in love with life as an ant on a summer blade of grass.