A lover would find life less broken apart after a misguided love affair if they could feel that they had been sinful rather than foolish.

Ah! some love Paris, / And some Purdue. / But love is an archer with a low I.Q. / A bold, bad bowman, and innocent of pity. / So I'm in love with / New York City.

People are no longer sinful, they are only immature or underprivileged or frightened or, more particularly, sick.

Meanness inherits a set of silverware and keeps it in the bank. Economy uses it only on important occasions, for fear of loss. Thrift sets the table with it every night for pure pleasure, but counts the butter spreaders before they are put away.

Wherever conversation's flowing, / Why must I feel it falls on me / To keep things going?

The mass of men live lives of quiet exasperation.

Marriage is a lot of things-an alliance, a sacrament, a comedy, or a mistake; but it is definitely not a partnership because that implies equal gain. And every right-thinking woman knows the profit in matrimony is by all odds hers.