To men and women who want to do things, there is nothing quite so driving as the force of an imprisoned ego. . . . All genius comes from this class.

There is something shameful about the death of a play. It does not die with pity, but contempt.

The one pleasure that never palls is the pleasure of not going to church.

Patience and endurance were not virtues in a woman; they were necessities, forced on her. Perhaps some day things would change and women would renounce them. They would rise up and say: 'We are not patient. We will endure no more.' Then what would happen to the world?

Love sees clearly, and seeing, loves on. But infatuation is blind; when it gains sight, it dies.

To the bottle! In infancy, the milk bottle; in our prime, the wine bottle; in our dotage, the pill bottle.

Lightning never strikes twice in the same place.