[On being told their loquacious, domineering host was 'outspoken':] By whom?
The writer's way is rough and lonely, and who would choose it while there are vacancies in more gracious professions, such as, say, cleaning out ferryboats?
That woman speaks eighteen languages, and can't say 'No' in any of them.
Civilization is coming to an end, you understand.
[On hearing that Clare Boothe Luce was invariably kind to her inferiors:] And where does she find them?
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, a medley of extemporanea, And love is a thing that can never go wrong, and I am Marie of Romania.