Her Frocks Are Built In Paris, But

A Woman Who Takes Her Husband About With Her Everywhere Is Like A Cat That Goes On Playing With A Mouse Long After She's Killed It.

On Horseback He Seemed To Require As Many Hands As A Hindu God, At Least Four For Clutching The Reins, And Two More For Patting The Horse Soothingly On The Neck.

Hors D'oeuvres Have Always A Pathetic Interest For Me; They Remind Me Of One's Childhood That One Goes Through Wondering What The Next Course Is Going To Be Like - And During The Rest Of The Menu One Wishes One Had Eaten More Of The Hors D'oeuvres.

There Was Something Alike Terrifying And Piteous In The Spectacle Of These Frail Old Morsels Of Humanity Consecrating Their Last Flickering Energies To The Task Of Making Each Other Wretched. Hatred Seemed To Be The One Faculty Which Had Survived In Undiminished Vigor Where All Else Was Dropping Into Ordered And Symmetrical Decay.

Women And Elephants Never Forget An Injury.