The victor belongs to the spoils.

The mind of a little child is fascinating, for it looks on old things with new eyes—but at about twelve this changes. The adolescent offers nothing, can do nothing, say nothing that the adult cannot do better.

The world only exists in your eyes—your conception of it. You can make it as big or as small as you want to.

The world, as a rule, does not live on beaches and in country clubs.

You can stroke people with words.

To most women art is a form of scandal.

Riches have never fascinated me, unless combined with the greatest charm or distinction.

The world is always curious, and people become valuable merely for their inaccessibility.

This is what I think now: that the natural state of the sentient adult is a qualified unhappiness.

[The Jazz Age] was borrowed time anyhow—the whole upper tenth of a nation living with the insouciance of grand dues and the casualness of chorus girls.