Love is like quicksilver in the hand.

It was written without fear and without research.

[On being told party guests were ducking for apples:] There, but for a typographical error, is the story of my life.

[On an actor who'd broken her leg in London:] Oh, how terrible. She must have done it sliding down a barrister.

All I have to be thankful for in this world is that I was sitting down when my garter busted.

Because your eyes are slant and slow, Because your hair is sweet to touch, My heart is high again; but oh, I doubt if this will get me much.

And there was that poor sucker Flaubert rolling around on his floor for three days looking for the right word.