Somewhere, there, is an analogy, in a small way, if you have the patience for it. But I guess it isn't a very good anecdote. I'm better at animal stories.

[On Katharine Hepburn's stage performance:] She ran the whole gamut of emotions, from A to B.

The plot is so tired that even this reviewer, who in infancy was let drop by a nurse with the result that she has ever since been mystified by amateur coin tricks, was able to guess the identity of the murderer from the middle of the book.

Dear Mary: We all knew you had it in you.

All I need is room enough to lay a hat and a few friends.

I don't mind anything that's written about me, as long as it's not true.

If I had any decency, I'd be dead. Most of my friends are.