Hollywood money isn't money. It's congealed snow, melts in your hand, and there you are.

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.

[On being told party guests were ducking for apples:] There, but for a typographical error, is the story of my life.

I like to think of my shining tombstone. It gives me, as you might say, something to live for.

Dear Mary: We all knew you had it in you.

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.

... if this world were anything near what it should be there would be no more need of a Book Week than there would be a of a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children.