Men and women, they were beautiful and wild, all a little violent under their pleasant ways and only a little tamed.

No, my dear, I'm not in love with you, no more than you are with me, and if I were, you would be the last person I'd ever tell. God help the man who ever really loves you. You'd break his heart, my darling, cruel, destructive little cat who is so careless and confident she doesn't even trouble to sheathe her claws.

How closely women clutch the very chains that bind them!

The world can forgive practically anything except people who mind their own business.

It's not because I've -what is the phrase? -'swept you off your feet' by my -er- ardor?

Babies, babies, babies. Why did God make so many babies? But no, God didn't make them. Stupid people made them.

I wonder if anyone but me realizes what goes on in that head back of your deceptively sweet face.