No man ever quite believes in any other man. One may believe in an idea absolutely, but not in a man. In the highest confidence there is always a flavor of doubt--a feeling, half instinctive and half logical, that, after all, the scoundrel may have something up his sleeve.

I give you Chicago. It is not London and Harvard. It is not Paris and buttermilk. It is American in every chitling and sparerib. It is alive from snout to tail.

The movies today are too rich to have any room for genuine artists. They produce a few passable craftsmen, but no artists. Can you imagine a Beethoven making $100, 000 a year?

There are no dull subjects. There are only dull writers.

The music critic, Huneber, could never quite make up his mind about a new symphony until he had seen the composer's mistress.

When I hear artists or authors making fun of businessmen, I think of a regiment in which the band makes fun of the cooks.

Man makes love by braggadocio, and woman makes love by listening.