He walks in the street, a picture of modesty in his felt hat and his gabardine suit, and all the while he's thinking, 'I'm immortal.' The world is his, time is his, and I'm nothing but an insect.

I'm never afraid. But in my case it's nothing to be proud of.

One day I'll be old, dead, forgotten. And at this very moment, while I'm sitting here thinking these things, a man in a dingy hotel room is thinking, 'I will a…

You made me come to Paris. You pestered me to start living again. Well, now it's up to you to make my life livable. You mustn't let three whole days go by with…

There's something about blonds that triggers a lightheartedness. People can't take you seriously. Brunettes are more mysterious.

If I go up to Harlem or down to Sixth Street, and I'm not dressed up or I'm not wearing my jewelry, then the people feel I'm talking down to them.

Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, Emblem right meet of decency does yield.