“How do I feel today? I feel as unfit as an unfiddle,And it is the result of a certain turbulence in the mind and an uncertain burbulence in the middle.What was it, anyway, that angry thing that flew at me?I am unused to banshees crying Boo at me.Your wife can’t be a banshee—Or can she?”

“Certainly there are things in life that money can’t buy, but it’s very funny – Did you ever try buying them without money.”

“My fellow man I do not care for.I often ask me, What's he there for?The only answer i can findIs, Reproduction of his kind.”

“The door of a bigoted mind opens outwards so that the only result of the pressure of facts upon it is to close it more snugly.”

“More than a catbird hates a cat,Or a criminal hates a clue,Or the Axis hates the United States,That's how much I love you.I love you more than a duck can swim,And more than a grapefruit squirts,I love you more than a gin rummy is a bore,And more than a toothache hurts.As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,Or a juggler hates a shove,As a hostess detests unexpected guests,That's how much you I love.I love you more than a wasp can sting,And more than the subway jerks,I love you as much as a beggar needs a crutch,And more than a hangnail irks.I swear to you by the stars above,And below, if such there be,As the High Court loathes perjurious oathes,That's how you're loved by me.”

“There are people who are very resourceful, at being remorseful,And who apparently feel that the best way to make friends is to do something terrible and then make amends.”

“Unwillingly Miranda wakes,Feels the sun with terror,One unwilling step she takes,Shuddering to the mirror.Miranda in Miranda's sightIs old and gray and dirty;Twenty-nine she was last night;This morning she is thirty.Shining like the morning star,Like the twilight shining,Haunted by a calendar,Miranda is a-pining.Silly girl, silver girl,Draw the mirror toward you;Time who makes the years to whirlAdorned as he adored you.Time is timelessness for you;Calendars for the human;What's a year, or thirty, toLoveliness made woman?Oh, Night will not see thirty again,Yet soft her wing, Miranda;Pick up your glass and tell me, then--How old is Spring, Miranda?”