An author ought to write for the youth of his own generation, the critics of the next, and the schoolmaster of ever afterwards.

There's so much spring in the air- there's so much lazy sweetness in your heart.

And I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.

Things are sweeter when they're lost. I know--because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly, Dot, and when I got it it turned to dust in my hand.

I may turn out an intellectual, but I'll never write anything but mediocre poetry.

She’s got an indiscreet voice,” I remarked. “It’s full of-“ I hesitated. “Her voice is full of money,” he said suddenly. That was it. I’d never understood before. It was full of money-that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it, the cymbals’ song of it.

Englishmen must have an island.