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.

Civilization is coming to an end, you understand.

Salary is no object: I want only enough to keep body and soul apart.

[To woman bragging about having kept her husband for seven years:] Don't worry, if you keep him long enough, he'll come back in style.

Some men break your heart in two, Some men fawn and flatter, Some men never look at you; And that cleans up the matter.

Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, a medley of extemporanea, And love is a thing that can never go wrong, and I am Marie of Romania.

Now that you've got me right down to it, the only thing I didn't like about The Barrets of Wimplole Street was the play.