Three highballs, and I think I'm St. Francis of Assisi.

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.

What ever beauty may be it has for its basis order and for its essence unity Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone.

As I was saying to the landlord only this morning: 'You can't have everything'.

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

Her big heart did not, as is so sadly often the case, inhabit a big bosom.

London is satisfied, Paris is resigned, but New York is always hopeful.