If all the young ladies who attended the Yale promenade dance were laid end to end, no one would be the least surprised.

There was nothing separate about her days. Like drops on the window-pane, they ran together and trickled away.

It costs me never a stab nor squirm / To tread by chance upon a worm. / Aha, my little dear, / I say, Your clan will pay me back one day.

Like many a better one before me, I have gone down under the force of numbers, under the books and books and books that keep coming out and coming out and coming out, shoals of them, spates of them, flash floods of them, too blame many books, and no sign of an end.

I had been fed, in my youth, a lot of old wives' tales about the way men would instantly forsake a beautiful woman to flock around a brilliant one. It is but fair to say that, after getting out in the world, I had never seen this happen." [From a column dated November 17, 1928]

Hold your pen and spare your voice.

There was a reason for the cost of those perfectly plain black dresses.