One night some short weeks ago, for the first time in her not always happy life, Marilyn Monroe's soul sat down alone to a quiet supper from which it did not rise.

If they tell you that she died of sleeping pills you must know that she died of a wasting grief, of a slow bleeding at the soul.

It's the Twentieth Century ... no more miracles.

Sex is the poor man's polo.

Life shouldn't be printed on dollar bills.

There are two kinds of marriages, Benny — where the husband quotes the wife, or where the wife quotes the husband.

One night some short weeks ago, for the first time in her not always happy life, Marilyn Monroe's soul sat down alone to a quiet supper from which it did not rise.