Excuse me, everybody, I have to go to the bathroom. I really have to telephone, but I'm too embarrassed to say so.

Should they whisper false of you, Never trouble to deny; Should the words they say be true, Weep and storm and say they lie.

London is satisfied, Paris is resigned, but New York is always hopeful. Always it believes that something good is about to come off, and it must hurry to meet it.

In the pathway of the sun, In the footsteps of the breeze, Where the world and sky are one, He shall ride the silver seas, He shall cut the glittering wave. I shall sit at home, and rock; Rise, to heed a neighbor's knock; Brew my tea, and snip my thread; Bleach the linen for my bed. They will call him brave.

[From a window in the Writer's Building at MGM, which overlooked a cemetery:] Hello down there. It might interest you to know that up here we are just as dead as you are.

Go to the Martin Beck Theatre and watch Katherine Hepburn run the gamut of emotions from A to B.

Tonstant Weader fwowed up.