A man reserves his true and deepest love not for the species of woman in whose company he finds himself electrified and enkindled, but for that one in whose company he may feel tenderly drowsy.
What passes for woman's intuition is often nothing more than man's transparency.
A man's wife is his compromise with the illusion of his first sweetheart.
I have yet to find a man worth his salt in any direction who did not think of himself first and foremost.
Love is the emotion that a woman feels always for a poodle dog and sometimes for a man.
It is only the cynicism that is born of success that is penetrating and valid.
