I don't mind anything that's written about me, as long as it's not true.

There must be a magnificent disregard of your reader, for if he cannot follow you, there is nothing you can do about it.

My verses, I cannot say poems. . . . I was following in the exquisite footsteps of Miss Millay, unhappily in my own horrible sneakers.

On lady novelists: As artists they're rot, but as providers they're oil wells; they gush. Norris said she never wrote a story unless it was fun to do. I understand Ferber whistles at her typewriter.

If you wear a short enough skirt, the party will come to you.

Somebody was using the pencil.

Her big heart did not, as is so sadly often the case, inhabit a big bosom.