Each day, the American housewife turns toward television as toward a lover. She feels guilty about it, and well she might, for he's covered with warts and is only after her money.
Neurotic quarrels always have the same theme-song: Hate me and get it over with.
Everybody can write; writers can't do anything else.
God doesn't measure His bounty, but oh how we do!
The trouble with women is men; the trouble with men, men.
All love is probationary, a fact which frightens women and exhilarates men.