When You Are Forty, Half Of You

Life Is Very Nice, But It Lacks Form. It's The Aim Of Art To Give It Some.

Oh, Love Is Real Enough; You Will Find It Someday, But It Has One Archenemy - And That Is Life.

My Wife Was An Opera Singer, You Know. She Bellowed Her Way Through Wagner As A Valkyrie. I Married Her And Made Her Give Up The Theatre, To My Eternal Cost. She Was To Go On Acting For Myself Alone. A Performance At His Own Expense, Lasting For More Than Twenty Years, Tends To Wear Out Your Spectator.

One Can Make One's Life A Complete Misery, Worrying About Burglaries And Shipwrecks, But Ask Anyone, Anyone You Know ... Earth-shattering Disasters And Fabulous Inheritances All Seems To Take Place Exclusively In The Newspapers.

Tragedy Is Clean, It Is Restful, It Is Flawless.