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Criticism is the art of appraising others at one’s own value.
– George Jean Nathan
So long as there is one pretty girl left on the stage, the professional undertakers may hold up their burial of the theater.
Whenever a man encounters a woman in a mood he doesn’t understand, he wants to know if she’s tired.
The test of a real comedian is whether you laugh at him before he opens his mouth.
Love is an emotion experienced by the many and enjoyed by the few.
A life spent in constant labor is a life wasted, save a man be such a fool as to regard a fulsome obituary notice as ample reward.
I drink to make other people interesting.
An optimist is a fellow who believes a housefly is looking for a way to get out.
No man can think clearly when his fists are clenched.
To speak of morals in art is to speak of legislature in sex. Art is the sex of the imagination.
I know many married men, I even know a few happily married men, but I don’t know one who wouldn’t fall down the first open coal hole running after the first pretty girl who gave him a wink.
What passes for woman’s intuition is often nothing more than man’s transparency.
An actor without a playwright is like a hole without a doughnut.
Patriotism is often an arbitrary veneration of real estate above principles.
Love is the emotion that a woman feels always for a poodle dog and sometimes for a man.
A man reserves his true and deepest love not for the species of woman in whose company he finds himself electrified and enkindled, but for that one in whose company he may feel tenderly drowsy.
Great art is as irrational as great music. It is mad with its own loveliness.
It is also said of me that I now and then contradict myself. Yes, I improve wonderfully as time goes on.
A man admires a woman not for what she says, but what she listens to.
Bad officials are the ones elected by good citizens who do not vote.
Beauty makes idiots sad and wise men merry.
It is only the cynicism that is born of success that is penetrating and valid.
The path of sound credence is through the thick forest of skepticism.
Love demands infinitely less than friendship.
Common sense, in so far as it exists, is all for the bourgeoisie. Nonsense is the privilege of the aristocracy. The worries of the world are for the common people.
A man’s wife is his compromise with the illusion of his first sweetheart.