Out in Hollywood, where the streets are paved with Goldwyn.

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

Perhaps it suddenly brought to us the sense of change. Or irresponsibility. But don't forget that, though the people in the twenties seemed like flops, they weren't. Fitzgerald, the rest of them, reckless as they were, drinkers as they were, they worked damn hard and all the time.

If wild my breast and sore my pride, I bask in dreams of suicide, If cool my heart and high my head I think 'How lucky are the dead.

[On Dashiell Hammett:] ... he is so hard-boiled you could roll him on the White House lawn.

My first love was Cinderella, but she ran off with another man.

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.