there is something shameful about the death of a play. It does not die with pity, but contempt. A book may fail, but who is there to know it? It dies and is buried, and is decently interred on the bookseller's shelf; but the play dies to laughter, to scorn and disdain.
Mary Roberts RinehartThe mystery story is two stories in one: the story of what happened and the story of what appeared to happen.
Mary Roberts Rinehartmy family, although it keeps its hair, turns gray early - a business asset but a social handicap.
Mary Roberts RinehartI believe that the matter is automatically self-regulating; that those women who prefer the home and have an ability for it will eventually return to it; that others, like myself, will compromise; and that still others, temperamentally unfitted for it, will remain in the world to add to its productivity.
Mary Roberts Rinehart