There's a sort of wooly headed duckiness about you. If I wasn't so crazy about Marmaduke, I could really marry you Bertie.

That is life. Just one long succession of misunderstandings and rash acts and what not. Absolutely.

Say what you will, there is something fine about our old aristocracy. I'll bet Trotsky couldn't hit a moving secretary with an egg on a dark night.

Has anybody ever seen a dramatic critic in the daytime? Of course not. They come out after dark, up to no good.

Why do dachshunds wear their ears inside out?

Sober or blotto, this is your motto: keep muddling through.

As for Gussie Finknottle, many an experienced undertaker would have been deceived by his appearance and started embalming on sight.