The helpless ecstasy of loosing himself in her charm was a powerful opiate rather than a tonic.

"What are you going to do?" "Can't say - run for president, write -" "Greenwich Village?" "Good heavens, no - I said write - not drink."

I’ve heard it said that Daisy’s murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.

I couldn't forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely justified.

Isn't Hollywood a dump-in the human sense of the word. A hideous town, pointed up by the insulting gardens of its rich, full of the human spirit at a new low of debasement.

Blessed are the dead that the rain falls on.

If he had to bring all the bitterness and hatred of the world into his heart, he was not going to be in love with her again.