O, merry is the Optimist, With the troops of courage leaguing. But a dour trend In any friend Is somehow less fatiguing.

Our [women's] bodies are shaped to bear children, and our lives are a working-out of the processes of creation. All our ambitions and intelligence are beside that great elemental point.

A bookworm in bed with a new novel and a good reading lamp is as much prepared for pleasure as a pretty girl at a college dance.

The human animal needs a freedom seldom mentioned, freedom from intrusion. He needs a little privacy quite as much as he wants understanding or vitamins or exercise or praise.

It is the leisured, I have noticed, who rebel the most at an interruption of routine.

Sticks and stones are hard on bones. Aimed with angry art, Words can sting like anything. But silence breaks the heart.

People are no longer sinful, they are only immature or underprivileged or frightened or, more particularly, sick.

Sons do not need you. They are always out of your reach, Walking strange waters.

No candidate too pallid, No issue too remote, But it can snare A questionnaire To analyze our vote.

Women like other women fine. The more feminine she is, the more comfortable a woman feels with her own sex. It is only the occasional and therefore noticeable adventuress who refuses to make friends with us.