After the chills and fever of love, how nice is the 98.6 degrees of marriage.

Surrounded by people who love life, you love it too; surrounded by people who don't, you don't.

Affairs are just as disillusioning as marriage, and much less restful.

Pity all newlyweds. She cooks something nice for him, and he brings her flowers, and they kiss and think: How easy marriage is.

We are like people with short-term leases on summer cottages; we can never seem to make our provisions come out even with our stay.

No one can understand love who has not experienced infatuation. And no one can understand infatuation, no matter how many times he has experienced it.

It upsets women to be, or not to be, stared at hungrily.