Great literature must spring from an upheaval in the author's soul. If that upheaval is not present then it must come from the works of any other author which happens to be handy and easily adapted.

It must be a source of great chagrin to those in charge to think of so many people being able to stick a stamp on a letter and drop it in a mail box without any trouble or suffering at all. They are probably working on a system this very minute, trying to devise some way in which the public can be made to fill out a blank, stand in line, consult some underling who will refer him to a superior, and then be made to black up with burned cork before they can mail a letter.

The most common of all antagonisms arises from a man's taking a seat beside you on the train, a seat to which he is completely entitled.

A man gets on a train with his little boy, and gives the conductor only one ticket. 'How old's your kid?' the conductor says, and the father says, 'He's four years old.' 'He looks at least twelve to me,' says the conductor. And the father says, 'Can I help it if he worries?

It was one of those plays in which all of the actors unfortunately enunciated very clearly.

Why don't you get out of that wet coat and into a dry martini?

A boy can learn a lot from a dog: obedience, loyalty, and the importance of turning around three times before lying down.