It's A Strange Situation, But

Nowadays People Don't Use Face Powder; They Say It Dries The Skin. But I Makeup In The Old-fashioned Way.

The Measure Of Woman's Distaste For Any Part Of Her Life Lies Not In The Loudness Of Her Lamentations (these Are Only An Attempt To Buy A Martyr's Crown At A Reduced Price) But In Her Persistent Pursuit Of That Occupation Of Which She Never Ceases To Complain.

Well, It Has Done Terrifying Things. Religious Ideas Are Inflammatory In A Way That I Find Difficult To Understand. There Are Very Few Wars Over The Theory Of Relativity. Very Few Heated Arguments, For That Matter. Whereas, In Northern Ireland, They Are Killing One Another Over Religion.

When I Was Young, We Thought That Oscar Wilde Was A Great Nobleman Who Had Thrown His Life Away For Love. Nothing Could Be Less True. He Slept With East Enders Who Were Procured For Him By Lord Alfred Douglas. He Knew Them Only 'in Braille' - The Curtains Were Never Drawn Back In The Rooms In Oxford Where He Met Those Boys. It Was The Most Sordid Life You Can Imagine. And He Was Bleating About Love And Dragging The Fair Name Of Mr. Plato Into The Trial - After A Life Like That?

Quentin Crisp (to Handsome Young Man On The Street): "what's The Matter, Sexy? Don't You Like Dehydrated Fruit?