Amory: I love you. Rosalind: I love you- now.
He looked at her the way all women want to be looked at by a man.
The faces of most American women over thirty are relief maps of petulant and bewildered unhappiness.
Too much of anything is bad, but too much Champagne is just right.
Every author ought to write every book as if he were going to be beheaded the day he finished it.
What was the use of doing great things if I could have a better time telling her what I was going to do?