I'll dispose of my teeth as I see fit, and after they've gone, I'll get along. I started off living on gruel, and by God, I can always go back to it again.

The main obligation is to amuse yourself.

Love is not the dying moan of a distant violin - it's the triumphant twang of a bedspring.

A dreary industrial town controlled by hoodlums of enormous wealth, the ethical sense of a pack of jackals and taste so degraded that it befouled everything it touched.

There were times, when I drove along the Sunset Strip and looked at those buildings or when I watched the fashionable film colony arriving at some première . . . that I fully expected God in his wrath to obliterate the whole shebang.