No One Asked You To Be Happy.

The Faults Of Husbands Are Often Caused By The Excess Virtues Of Their Wives.

At The Top Of The Iron Staircase Leading To The Stage, The Good, Dry, Dusty Warmth Wraps Me Round Like A Comfortable Dirty Cloak.

So Now, Whenever I Despair, I No Longer Expect My End, But Some Bit Of Luck, Some Commonplace Little Miracle Which, Like A Glittering Link, Will Mend Again The Necklace Of My Days.

You Will Do Foolish Things, But Do Them With Enthusiasm.

A Pretty Little Collection Of Weaknesses And A Terror Of Spiders Are Our Indispensable Stock-in-trade With The Men...