Civilization is coming to an end, you understand.

Art is a form of catharsis emotional release, purging, cleansing, purifying.

[Hospitalized and pressing the nurse's button before dictating letters to her secretary:] This should assure us of at least forty-five minutes of undisturbed privacy.

Years are only garments, and you either wear them with style all your life, or else you go dowdy to the grave.

Guns aren't lawful; nooses give; gas smells awful. So you might as well live.

Go to the Martin Beck Theatre and watch Katherine Hepburn run the gamut of emotions from A to B.

For a few minutes, everything is so cute that the mind reels.... And then, believe it or not, things get worse. So I shot myself.