Said I was critical and impractical, you know.
ROSALIND: What do you mean impractical?
AMORY: Oh--drive a car, but can't change a tire.
ROSALIND: What are you going to do?
AMORY: Can't say--run for President, write-- ROSALIND: Greenwich Village?
AMORY: Good heavens, no--I said write--not drink.
ROSALIND: I like business men.

Clever men are usually so homely.
AMORY: I feel as if I'd known you for ages.
ROSALIND: Oh, are you going to commence the "pyramid" story?
AMORY: No--I was going to make it French.

I was Louis XIV and you were one of my--my--( Changing his tone.) Suppose--we fell in love.
ROSALIND: I've suggested pretending.
AMORY: If we did it would be very big.
ROSALIND: Why?
AMORY: Because selfish people are in a way terribly capable of great loves.
ROSALIND: (Turning her lips up) Pretend.
(Very deliberately they kiss.) AMORY: I can't say sweet things.

But you _are_ beautiful.
ROSALIND: Not that.
AMORY: What then?
ROSALIND: (Sadly) Oh, nothing--only I want sentiment, real sentiment--and I never find it.
AMORY: I never find anything else in the world--and I loathe it.
ROSALIND: It's so hard to find a male to gratify one's artistic taste.
(Some one has opened a door and the music of a waltz surges into the room.

ROSALIND rises.) ROSALIND: Listen! they're playing "Kiss Me Again." (He looks at her.) AMORY: Well?
ROSALIND: Well?
AMORY: (Softly--the battle lost) I love you.
ROSALIND: I love you--now.
(They kiss.) AMORY: Oh, God, what have I done?
ROSALIND: Nothing.