Only good girls keep diaries. Bad girls don't have time.

The less I behave like Whistler's mother the night before, the more I look like her the morning after.

Wracked with a hangover I do my muttering over a Black Velvet, a union of champagne and stout. Don't be swindled into believing there's any cure for a hangover. I've tried them all: iced tomatoes, hot clam juice, brandy peaches. Like the common cold it defies solution. Time alone can stay it. The hair of the dog? That way lies folly. It's as logical as trying to put out a fire with applications of kerosene.

I think the Republican party should be placed in drydock and have the barnacles scraped off its bottom.

In the theater lying is looked upon as an occupational disease.

They aren't making mirrors like they use to.

My progress reminded me of the horses in The Whip. They raced at the limit of their speed directly toward the audience. But they raced on a treadmill which canceled out their progress.