I care not who hoes the lettuce of my country if I can eat the salad!

I'm a romantic; a sentimental person thinks things will last, a romantic person hopes against hope that they won't.

Now the standard cure for one who is sunk is to consider those in actual destitution or physical suffering

Life plays the same lovely and agonizing joke on all of us.

I love New York on summer afternoons when everyone's away. There's something very sensuous about it - overripe, as if all sorts of funny fruits were going to fall into your hands.

The best of America drifts to Paris. The American in Paris is the best American.

Now the standard cure for one who is sunk is to consider those in actual destitution or physical suffering—this is an all-weather beatitude for gloom in general and fairly salutary day-time advice for everyone. But at three o’clock in the morning, a forgotten package has the same tragic importance as a death sentence, and the cure doesn’t work—and in a real dark night of the soul it is always three o’clock in the morning, day after day.