Something was making him nibble at the edge of stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotism no longer nourished his peremptory heart.

No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.

The faces of most American women over thirty are relief maps of petulant and bewildered unhappiness.

A writer like me must have an utter confidence, an utter faith in his star. It's an almost mystical feeling, a feeling of nothing-can-happen-to me, nothing-can-touch-me.... I once had it. But through a series of blows, many of them my own fault, something happened to that sense of immunity and I lost my grip.

Amory: I love you. Rosalind: I love you- now.

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

Of all natural forces, vitality is the incommunicable one. . . . Vitality never "takes." You have it or you haven't it, like health or brown eyes or a baritone voice.