Some men break your heart in two, Some men fawn and flatter, Some men never look at you; And that cleans up the matter.

My love runs by like a day in June, And he makes no friends of sorrows. He'll tread his galloping rigadoon In the pathway of the morrows. He'll live his days where the sunbeams start, Nor could storm or wind uproot him. My own dear love, he is all my heart, -- And I wish somebody'd shoot him.

I like to have a martini/Two at the very most/After three I'm under the table/After four I'm under my host.

Genius can write on the back of old envelopes but mere talent requires the finest stationery available.

That woman speaks eighteen languages, and can't say 'No' in any of them.

She was pleased to have him come and never sorry to see him go.

Oh, seek, my love, your newer way; I'll not be left in sorrow. So long as I have yesterday, Go take your damned tomorrow!