One never knows when one is old for certain.

Let this serve as an axiom to every lover: A woman who refuses lunch refuses everything.

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

I shall continue to explore-the astonishment of living.

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.

Dead news like dead love has no phoenix in its ashes.

Things come suitable to the time.