Love is the delusion that one woman differs from another.

Love is the most fun you can have without laughing.

Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.

LOVER. An apprentice second husband; victim no. 2 in the larval stage.

Lying is not only excusable; it is not only innocent, and instinctive; it is, above all, necessary and unavoidable. Without the ameliorations that it offers life would become a mere syllogism, and hence too metallic to be borne.

Man is a beautiful machine that works very badly. He is like a watch of which the most that can be said is that its cosmetic effect is good.

Man is a natural polygamist: he always has one woman leading him by the nose, and another hanging on to his coattails. H. L.

Man is never honestly the fatalist, nor even the stoic. He fights his fate, often desperately. He is forever entering bold exceptions to the rulings of the bench of gods. This fighting, no doubt, makes for human progress, for it favors the strong and the brave. It also makes for beauty, for lesser men try to escape from a hopeless and intolerable world by creating a lovelier one of their own. H. L.

Man, without a saving touch of woman in him, is too doltish, too naive and romantic, too easily deluded and lulled to sleep by his imagination to be anything above a cavalryman, a theologian or a corporation director.

Marriage is a wonderful institution, but who would want to live in an institution. H. L.