She can sit up and beg, and she can give her paw — I don't say she will, but she can.

I never see that prettiest thing- A cherry bough gone white with Spring- But what I think, "How gay 'twould be To hang me from a flowering tree.

[Completely bored by a country weekend, wiring to a friend:] For heaven's sake, rush me a loaf of bread, enclosing saw and file.

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.

The sweeter the apple, the blacker the core. Scratch a lover and find a foe!

Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch it and it darts away.

[To the British actor who annoyed her by repeated references to his busy 'shedule':] I think you're full of skit.