Romance dies hard, because its very nature is to want to live.

Why one man rather than another? It was odd. You find yourself involved with a fellow for life just because he was the one you met when you were nineteen.

Romance only dies with life. No pair of pincers will ever pull it out of us. But there is a spurious sentiment which cannot resist the unexpected and the incongruous and the grotesque.

Romance, like alcohol, should be enjoyed but must not be allowed to become necessary.

In a great romance, each person basically plays a part that the other really likes.

Romance might not last, but it was something while it did.

Romance was a game, like bridge, in which you said things instead of playing cards. Like bridge you had to pretend you were playing for money or playing for some stakes.

Following each divorce, he discovered anew that unmarried a man had to take women places: out to restaurants, for walks in the park, to museums and the opera and the movies-not only had to go to the movies but afterwards had to discuss them.

Nothing spoils a romance so much as a sense of humour in the woman.

Bisexuality immediately doubles your chances for a date on Saturday night.