A man may be said to love most truly that woman in whose company he can feel drowsy in comfort.

There is something distinguished about even his failures; they sink not trivially, but with a certain air of majesty, like a great ship, its flags flying, full of holes.

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

So long as there is one pretty girl left on the stage, the professional undertakers may hold up their burial of the theater.

It is only the cynicism that is born of success that is penetrating and valid.

In the theatre, a hero is one who believes that all women are ladies, a villain one who believes that all ladies are women.

An optimist is a fellow who believes a housefly is looking for a way to get out.