“He is a writer for the ages, the ages of four to eight.”

There is entirely too much charm around, and something must be done to stop it.

Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch it and it darts away.

Ridicule may be a shield, but it is not a weapon.

If you wear a short enough skirt, the party will come to you.

The Monte Carlo casino refused to admit me until I was properly dressed so I went and found my stockings, and then came back and lost my shirt.

By the time you swear you’re his, Shivering and sighing. And he vows his passion is, Infinite, undying. Lady make note of this — One of you is lying.

All I need is room enough to lay a hat and a few friends.

Money cannot buy health, but I’d settle for a diamond-studded wheelchair.

Writing well is the best revenge.

And if my heart be scarred and burned, The safer, I, for all I learned.

Writing is the art of applying the ass to the seat.

The only useful thing I ever learned in school was that if you spit on your eraser it erased ink.

I hate writing, I love having written.

Los Angeles: Seventy-two suburbs in search of a city.

Ducking for apples — change one letter and it’s the story of my life.

But I don’t give up; I forget why not.