The New York playgoer is a child of nature, and he has an honest and wholesome regard of whatever is atrocious in art.

One learns little more about a man from the feats of his literary memory than from the feats of his alimentary canal.

Men will confess to treason, murder, arson, false teeth, or a wig. How many of them will own up to a lack of humor?

You cannot find, make or understand true friendship without having enemies.

By rights, satire is a lonely and introspective occupation, for nobody can describe a fool to the life without much patient self-inspection.

Clever people seem not to feel the natural pleasure of bewilderment, and are always answering questions when the chief relish of a life is to go on asking them.

The New York playgoer is a child of nature, and he has an honest and wholesome regard of whatever is atrocious in art.