Whenever I have that sad, depressed feeling, I go out and kill a policeman.

Unseen in the background, Fate was quietly slipping lead into the boxing-glove.

If you could call the thing a horse. If it hadn't shown a flash of speed in the straight, it would have got mixed up with the next race.

If men's minds were like dominoes, surely his would be the double blank.

Woman is the unfathomable, incalculable mystery, the problem we men can never hope to solve.

She could not have gazed at him with a more rapturous intensity if she had been a small child and he a saucer of ice cream.

Now, I'm a mixer. I can't help it. It's my nature. I like men. I like the taste of their boots, the smell of their legs, and the sound of their voices. It may be weak of me, but a man has only to speak to me, and a sort of thrill goes down my spine and sets my tail wagging.