Between lovers a little confession is a dangerous thing.

A widow is a fascinating being with the flavor of maturity, the spice of experience, the piquancy of novelty, the tang of practiced coquetry, and the halo of one man's approval.

A man can become so accustomed to the thought of his own faults that he will begin to cherish them as charming little 'personal characteristics.'

Jealousy is the tie that binds, and binds, and binds.

Marriage is the miracle that transforms a kiss from a pleasure into a duty.

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.

At twenty, a man feels awfully aged and blasé; at thirty, almost senile; at forty, "not so old"; and at fifty, positively skittish.