Benchley and I had an office in the old Life magazine that was so tiny, if it were an inch smaller it would have been adultery.

They say of me, and so they should, It's doubtful if I come to good.

Now to me, Edith looks like something that would eat her young.

I require only three things of a man. He must be handsome, ruthless and stupid.

[On an actor who'd broken her leg in London:] Oh, how terrible. She must have done it sliding down a barrister.

I like to have a martini/Two at the very most/After three I'm under the table/After four I'm under my host.

I know that an author must be brave enough to chop away clinging tentacles of good taste for the sake of a great work. But this is no great work, you see.