my family, although it keeps its hair, turns gray early - a business asset but a social handicap.

I suppose there is something in all of us that harks back to the soil. When you come to think of it, what are picnics but outcroppings of instinct? No one really enjoys them or expects to enjoy them, but with the first warm days some prehistoric instinct takes us out into the woods, to fry potatoes over a strangling wood fire or spend the next week getting grass stains out of our clothes. It must be instinct; every atom of intelligence warns us to stay at home near the refrigerator.

It's money that brings trouble. It always has and it always will.

pretense is the oil that lubricates society.

I found that my name signed to a check was even more welcome than when signed to a letter.

the theater is the only money-making business I know in which haste apparently rules from first to last.

Great loves were almost always great tragedies. Perhaps it was because love was never truly great until the element of sacrifice entered into it.