A Movie Is Never Any

I Have Known A Number Of Don Juans Who Were Good Studs And Who Cavorted Between The Sheets Without A Psychiatrist To Guide Them. But Most Of The Busy Love-makers I Knew Were Looking For Masculinity Rather Than Practicing It. They Were Fellows Of Dubious Lust.

Love's The Only Thing I've Thought Of Or Read About Since I Was Knee-high. That's What I Always Dreamed Of, Of Meeting Somebody And Falling In Love. And When That Remarkable Thing Happened, I Was Going To Recite Poetry To Her For Hours About How Her Heart's An Angel's Wing And Her Hair The Strings Of A Heavenly Harp. Instead I Got Drunk And Hollered At Her And Called Her A Harpy.

There Was A Land Of Cavaliers And Cotton Fields Called The Old South. Here In This Pretty World, Gallantry Took Its Last Bow. Here Was The Last Ever To Be Seen Of Knights And Their Ladies Fair, Of Master And Of Slave. Look For It Only In Books, For It Is No More Than A Dream Remembered, A Civilization Gone With The Wind.

Much More Frequent In Hollywood Than The Emergence Of Cinderella Is Her Sudden Vanishing. At Our Party, Even In Those Glowing Days, The Clock Was Always Striking Twelve For Someone At The Height Of Greatness; And There Was Never A Prince To Fetch Her Back To The Happy Scene.

Out Of The Thousand Writers Huffing And Puffing Through Movieland There Are Scarcely Fifty Men And Women Of Wit Or Talent. The Rest Of The Fraternity Is Deadwood. Yet, In A Curious Way, There Is Not Much Difference Between The Product Of A Good Writer And A Bad One. They Both Have To Toe The Same Mark.