A man may talk inspiringly to a woman about love in the abstract--but the look in his eyes is always perfectly concrete.

A man's heart may have a secret sanctuary where only one woman may enter, but it is full of little anterooms which are seldom vacant.

A woman flees from temptation, but a man just crawls away from it in the cheerful hope that it may overtake him.

A husband is what is left of a lover, after the nerve has been extracted.

When perfect frankness comes in at the door love flies out of the window.

It isn't tying himself to one woman that a man dreads when he thinks of marrying; it's separating himself from all the others.

There are more ways of killing a man's love than by strangling it to death, but that's the usual way.