Character is plot, plot is character.

Here's to alcohol, the rose colored glasses of life.

Joan Crawford is doubtless the best example of the flapper, the girl you see in smart night clubs, gowned to the apex of sophistication, toying iced glasses with a remote, faintly bitter expression, dancing deliciously, laughing a great deal, with wide, hurt eyes. Young things with a talent for living.

It’s a great advantage not to drink among hard drinking people.

These lights, this brightness, these clusters of human hope, of wild desire—I shall take these lights in my fingers. I shall make them bright, and whether they shine or not, it is in these fingers that they shall succeed or fail.

There is a moment—Oh, just before the first kiss, a whispered word—something that makes it worth while.

We all must try to be good.