I Write At High Speed Because Boredom

Wit Is Like Caviar - It Should Be Served In Small Portions And Not Spread About Like Marmalade.

I Also Avoid Green Vegetables. They're Grossly Overrated.

It's Never Too Early For A Cocktail.

Certain Women Should Be Struck Regularly, Like Gongs.

An Infant Prodigy Of Nine Is Shoved Upon The Stage In White. She Starts Off In A Dismal Whine About A Dark And Stormy Night, A Burglar, Whose Heart Is True, Despite His Wicked-looking Face, Who Puts The Little Child In Doom, To Save Her Mamma's Jewel Case. This May Bring Tears To Every Eye; It Does Not Set My Heart On Fire. I'd Like To Stand Serenely By And Watch That Horrid Child Expire.