Human sympathy has its limits.

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

She laughed with thrilling scorn. "Sophisticated-God, I'm sophisticated!

Writers aren’t people exactly. Or, if they’re any good, they’re a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person.

They talked aimlessly back and forth, each speaking for the other.

Even when everything seems rotten you can't trust that judgment. It's the sum of all your judgments that counts.

So we'll just let things take their course, and never be sorry.