I find I always have to write something on a steamed mirror.

Oh, Teddy, darling, thank you, thank you, for restoring my cynicism. I was too young to lose it.

A rowdy bunch on the whole, they were most of them so violently individualistic as to be practically interchangeable.

Acting doesn't bring anything to a text. On the contrary, it detracts from it.

I find I always have to write something on a steamed mirror.

The vehemence of my moral indignation surprised me. Was I beginning to have standards and principles, and, oh dear, scruples? What were they, and what would I do with them, and how much were they going to get in my way?

I hate champagne more than anything in the world next to Seven-Up.