Hold your pen and spare your voice.

If all the girls attending [the Yale prom] were laid end to end, I wouldn't be at all surprised.

Tonstant Weader fwowed up.

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

Why is it no one sent me yet one perfect limousine, do you suppose? Ah no, it's always just my luck to get one perfect rose.

Like many a better one before me, I have gone down under the force of numbers, under the books and books and books that keep coming out and coming out and coming out, shoals of them, spates of them, flash floods of them, too blame many books, and no sign of an end.

I require only three things of a man. He must be handsome, ruthless and stupid.