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

His voice was as intimate as the rustle of sheets.

Those who have mastered etiquette, who are entirely, impeccably right, would seem to arrive at a point of exquisite dullness.

How do people go to sleep? I'm afraid I've lost the knack. I might try busting myself smartly over the temple with the night-light. I might repeat to myself, slowly and soothingly, a list of quotations beautiful from minds profound; if I can remember any of the damn things.

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.

Sorrow is tranquility remembered in emotion.

If you looked for things to make you feel hurt and wretched and unnecessary, you were certain to find them.