The Russian dramatist is one who, walking through a cemetery, does not see the flowers on the graves. The American dramatist . . . Does not see the graves under the flowers.

The dramatic critic who is without prejudice is on the plane with the general who does not believe in taking human life.

The triumph of sugar over diabetes.

The path of sound credence is through the thick forest of skepticism.

Sex touches the heavens only when it simultaneously touches the gutter and the mud.

What passes for woman's intuition is more often intrinsically nothing more than man's transparency.

A poet, any real poet, is simply an alchemist who transmutes his cynicism regarding human beings into an optimism regarding the moon, the stars, the heavens, and the flowers, to say nothing of Spring, love, and dogs.