To a friend who asked her if she liked her hair:
"Lovely. I can't wait for mine to go gray so I can have it made blue."

To a friend who asked her if she liked her hair:
"Lovely. I can't wait for mine to go gray so I can have it made blue."
Wit has truth in it. Wise-cracking is simply callisthenics with words.
Of trying to talk to someone who kept interrupting:
"Like riding on the Long Island railroad - it gets you nowhere in particular."
When a woman asked her, as they often did, "How did you do it?" :
"See your analyst. He might have a word with your ovaries."
Rhyme Against Living
If wild my breast and sore my pride,
I bask in dreams of suicide;
If cool my heart and high my head,
I think, "How lucky are the dead!"
Rhyme Against Living
If wild my breast and sore my pride,
I bask in dreams of suicide;
If cool my heart and high my head,
I think, "How lucky are the dead!"
Paying her last respects to Scott Fitzgerald as eh lay in an undertaker's parlor in Los Angeles, and quoting the words of a mourner at the funer of Jay Gatsby:
"The poor son-of-a-bitch!"
General Review of the Sex Situation
Woman wants monogamy;
Man delights in novelty.
Love is woman's moon and sun;
Man has other forms of fun.
Woman lives but in her lord;
Count to ten, and man is bored.
With this the gist and sum of it,
What earthly good can come of it?
On being asked the title of her talk to the Congress of American Writers' poetry session in 1939:
"Sophisticated Verse and The Hell with it."
Braggart
You will be frail and musty
With peering, furtive head,
While I am young and lusty
Among the roaring dead.
I like to think of my shining tombstone. It gives me, as you might say, something to live for.
Of her supersophisticated New York days:
We were gallant, hardriding and careless of life. We were little black eyes that had gone astray... A sort of Ladies' Auxiliary of the Legion of the Damned.
I hate Women. They get on my Nerves.
On being asked if she was going to join Alcoholics Anonymous :
"Certainly not. They'd want me to stop now."
Comment
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,
A medley of extemporanea;
And love is a thing that can never go wrong,
And I am Marie of Roumania.
Challenged to use the word "horticulture" in a sentence:
"You can lead a whore to culture, but you can't make her think."
Of her second husband:
"Oh, don't worry about Alan. Alan will always land on somebody's feet."
To a supercilious youth who said he "simply couldn't bear fools":
"How odd. Your mother could apparently."