Brevity is the soul of lingerie.

This play John Drinkwater's Abraham Lincoln holds the season's record, thus far, with a run of four evening performances and one matinee. By an odd coincidence, it ran just five performances too many.

[On an actor who'd broken her leg in London:] Oh, how terrible. She must have done it sliding down a barrister.

Just begin a story with such a phrase as 'I remember Disraeli - poor old Dizz! - once saying to me, in answer to my poke in the eye,' and you will find me and Morpheus off in a corner, necking.

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

Upton Sinclair is his own King Charles' head. He cannot keep himself out of his writings, try though he may; or, by this time, try though he doesn't.

When you have to apologize, it is well, I suppose, to get the thing over quickly.