Englishmen must have an island.

What was it up there in the song that seemed to be calling her back inside? What would happen now in the dim, incalculable hours?

The strongest guard is placed at the gateway to nothing. Maybe because the condition of emptiness is too shameful to be divulged.

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.

What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon? And the day after that, and the next thirty years?

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.

The things that'll make you fail I'll love always.