Don't look at me in that tone of voice.

I know this will come as a shock to you, Mr. Goldwyn, but in all history, which has held billions and billions of human beings, not a single one ever had a happy ending.

Summer makes me drowsy. Autumn makes me sing. Winter's pretty lousy, but I hate Spring.

I wish, I wish I were a poisonous bacterium.

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

We were all imitative. We all wandered in after Miss Edna St. Vincent Millay. We were all being dashing and gallant, declaring we weren't virgins, whether we were or not.

I wanted to be cute. That's the terrible thing. I should have had more sense.