The happiest miser on earth is the man who saves up every friend he can make.
I remember when I was younger, there was a well-known writer who used to dart down the back way whenever saw me coming. I suppose he was in love with me and wasn't quite sure of himself. Well, c'est la vie!
The trouble with me is, I belong to a vanishing race. I'm one of the intellectuals.
All Coolidge had to do in 1924 was to keep his mean trap shut, to be elected. All Harding had to do in 1920 was repeat Avoid foreign entanglements. All Hoover had to do in 1928 was to endorse Coolidge. All Roosevelt had to do in 1932 was to point to Hoover.
And who are the greater criminals-those who sell the instruments of death, or those who buy them and use them?
To be able to write a play a man must be sensitive, imaginative, naive, gullible, passionate; he must be something of an imbecile, something of a poet, something of a liar, something of a damn fool.
The only people who grow old were born old to begin with.
He must be independent and brave, and sure of himself and of the importance of his work, because if he isn't he will never survive the scorching blasts of derision that will probably greet his first efforts.
That's the whole story of my life: frustration. It's a chronic disease, and it's incurable.
Poor, dear God. Playing Idiot's Delight. The game that never means anything, and never ends.
Tenterhooks are the upholstery of the anxious seat.
We all come from our own little planets. That's why we're all different. That's what makes life interesting.
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