The simplest comment on my book came from my ballet teacher. She said, "I wish you hadn't made every line funny. It's so depressing."
The Scots are very hospitable; almost as hospitable as the Americans.
It's written into the Constitution that you're allowed to pursue happiness. In England it would be considered a frivolous objective.
I don't believe in convention at all. I do what I have to do to stay alive.
Love is not enough. It must be the foundation, the cornerstone - but not the complete structure. It is much too pliable, too yielding.
In New York, I find people so courteous and so generous. Free drinks in bars. Free taxi rides.
The Americans, of course, are quite dotty with hospitality.
I recommend limiting one's involvement in other people's lives to a pleasantly scant minimum.
Living en famille provides the strongest motives for rudeness combined with the maximum opportunity for displaying it.
Everybody who's been on television more than once wears in public an expression of fatuous affability. Because you may be addressed at any moment by somebody.
The idea that He would take his attention away from the universe in order to give me a bicycle with three speeds is just so unlikely I can't go along with it.
Vienna is cold, and dark, and sad. It is laid out as though for a royal parade; the streets are wide and they're flanked by monumental buildings, decorated with the faces of angry gods. And on the roof are statues of national heroes, wielding weapons of destruction.
I never really found out what love was.
God is so angry. All that power, and so mean with it.
Bit by bit, I was becoming the almost acceptable face of homosexuality.
The law is simply expediency wearing a long white dress.
I don't hold with abroad and think that foreigners speak English when our backs are turned.
What better proof of love can there be than money? A ten-shilling note shows incontrovertibly just how mad about you a man is.
Britain cherishes her eccentrics and wisely holds that the function of government is to build a walled garden in which anarchy can flourish.
Los Angeles is just New York lying down.
I never saw Portsmouth by day.
While I have very little to say in favor of sex (it's vastly overrated, it's frequently unnecessary, and it's messy), it is greatly to be preferred to the interminable torments of romantic agony through which two people tear one another limb from limb while professing altruistic devotion.
The gymnasiacs of Venice, in California, are so addicted to these practices that there has arisen a nation of men who can no longer put their arms against their sides
America believes in freedom. The English don't believe in it. They don't believe in happiness.
I was beaten up wherever I went, and people shouted at me and cursed me and threw things at me.
"I've never not been famous."
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