I can’t write five words but that I change seven.

Now that you've got me right down to it, the only thing I didn't like about The Barrets of Wimplole Street was the play.

[Suggesting an epitaph for herself:] This is on me.

Out in Hollywood, where the streets are paved with Goldwyn.

Writing is the art of applying the ass to the seat.

Men They hail you as their morning star Because you are the way you are. If you return the sentiment, They'll try to make you different; And once they have you, safe and sound, They want to change you all around. Your moods and ways they put a curse on; They'd make of you another person. They cannot let you go your gait; They influence and educate. They'd alter all that they admired. They make me sick, they make me tired.

Dear Mary: We all knew you had it in you.