Let there be dancing in the streets, drinking in the saloons, and necking in the parlor.

Practically everybody in New York has half a mind to write a book, and does.

Do you mind if I don't smoke?

I know a member of one of New York's first families (first as you drive up Tenth Avenue)

A thing that has always baffled me about women is that they will saturate themselves with a pint of perfume, a pound of sachet powder, an evil-smelling lip rouge, a peculiar-smelling hair ointment and a half-dozen varieties of body oils, and then have the effrontery to complain of the aroma of a fine dollar cigar.

You can leave in a huff. Or you can leave in a minute and a huff.

A woman is an occasional pleasure but a cigar is always a smoke.