For the hearts of nurses are solid gold, / But their heels are flat and their hands are cold, / And their voices lilt with a lilt that's falser / Than the smile of an exhibition waltzer. / Yes, nurses can cure you, nurses restore you, / But nurses are bound that they do things for you.

Sometimes I have a notion that what might improve the situation is to have women take over the occupations of government and trade and to give men their freedom.

Tomorrow will come and today will pass, / But the hearts of the young are brittle as glass.

Say what you will, making a marriage work is a woman's business.

A bookworm in bed with a new novel and a good reading lamp is as much prepared for pleasure as a pretty girl at a college dance.

If childhood is still a state, it is now chiefly a state of confusion.

It is the leisured, I have noticed, who rebel the most at an interruption of routine.