I'm Not A Heavy Drinker, I Can

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.

Exercise Is The Most Awful Illusion. The Secret Is A Lot Of Aspirin And Marrons Glaces.

It Is My Considered Opinion That The Human Race (soi Disant) Is Cruel, Idiotic, Sentimental, Predatory, Ungrateful, Ugly, Conceited And Egocentric To The Last Ditch And That The Occasional Discovery Of An Isolated Exception Is As Deliciously Surprising As Finding A Sudden Brazil Nut In What You Know To Be Five Pounds Of Vanilla Creams. These Glorious Moments, Although Not Making Life Actually Worth Living, Perhaps, At Least Make It Pleasanter.

Television Is For Appearing On, Not Looking At.

I Will Accept Anything In The Theatre . . . Provided It Amuses Or Moves Me. But If It Does Neither, I Want To Go Home.