The pleasure of one's effect on other people still exists in age - what's called making a hit. But the hit is much rarer and made of different stuff.

As for death, one gets used to it, even if it is only other people is death you get used to.

In marriage there are no manners to keep up, and beneath the wildest accusations no real criticism. Each is familiar with that ancient child in the other who may erupt again. We are not ridiculous to ourselves. We are ageless. That is the luxury of the wedding ring.

One's palate is reborn every morning!

The theatre is a gross art, built in sweeps and over-emphasis. Compromise is its second name.

It's not till sex has died out between a man and a woman that they can really love. And now I mean affection. Now I mean to be fond of (as one is fond of oneself) --to hope, to be disappointed, to live inside the other heart.

The dangerous thing about hate is that it seems so reasonable.