Die, My Dear? Why That's The Last

I'm Not Much Of A Correspondent. My Letters Are Not Only Uninteresting But Sparse. I'm Glad I Don?t Have To Write For A Living. It?s Arduous Work And The Money Is Very Uncertain. On Those Rare Occasions When I Wander Into A Bookstore It Amazes Me To See The Avalanche Of Literature And Semi-literature That Is Turned Out Weekly In This Country. The People Who Write These Things Are Either Desperate For Money Or Love Starved. Why Should Anyone On A Nice Balmy Day Lock Oneself In An Office And Hit A Typewriter For Hours On End. I Think One Of The Greatest Pleasures In The World Is Not Writing.

A Thing That Has Always Baffled Me About Women Is That They Will Saturate Themselves With A Pint Of Perfume, A Pound Of Sachet Powder, An Evil-smelling Lip Rouge, A Peculiar-smelling Hair Ointment And A Half-dozen Varieties Of Body Oils, And Then Have The Effrontery To Complain Of The Aroma Of A Fine Dollar Cigar.

I've Known And Respected Your Husband For Many Years, And What's Good Enough For Him Is Good Enough For Me

Laugh And The World Laughs With You, Cry And You're Probably Watching The Wrong Channel.

How Would You Like To Feel The Way She Looks?