At the best I can have my choice from one or two cities and, of course, I have to marry into a dinner-coat.
"Listen," she leaned close again, "I like clever men and good-looking men, and, of course, no one cares more for personality than I do.

Oh, just one person in fifty has any glimmer of what sex is.

I'm hipped on Freud and all that, but it's rotten that every bit of _real_ love in the world is ninety-nine per cent passion and one little soupcon of jealousy." She finished as suddenly as she began.
"Of course, you're right," Amory agreed.

"It's a rather unpleasant overpowering force that's part of the machinery under everything.

It's like an actor that lets you see his mechanics! Wait a minute till I think this out...." He paused and tried to get a metaphor.