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

There is entirely too much charm around, and something must be done to stop it.

[On Lou Tellegen's Women Have Been Kind:] The book ... has all the elegance of a quirked little finger and all the glitter of a pair of new rubbers.

Little Words When you are gone, there is nor bloom nor leaf, Nor singing sea at night, nor silver birds; And I can only stare, and shape my grief In little words. I cannot conjure loveliness, to drown The bitter woe that racks my cords apart. The weary pen that sets my sorrow down Feeds at my heart. There is no mercy in the shifting year, No beauty wraps me tenderly about. I turn to little words- so you, my dear, Can spell them out.

I find her anecdotes more efficacious than sheep-counting, rain on a tin roof, or alanol tablets.... you will find me and Morpheus, off in a corner, necking.

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

Then if my friendships break and bend, There's little need to cry The while I know that every foe Is faithful till I die.