Dorothy Parker (August 22, 1893 – June 7, 1967) was an American poet, writer, critic, and satirist, best known for her wit, wisecracks and eye for 20th-century urban foibles.
I give her sadness and the gift of pain, a new moon madness and a love of rain.
(Scottish Terriers) have all the compactness of a small dog and all the valor of a big one. And they are so exceedingly sturdy that it is proverbial that the only thing fatal to them is being run over by an automobile - in which case the car itself knows it has been in a fight.
Guido Natso is natso guido.
The only “ism” Hollywood believes in is plagiarism.
Hollywood is the one place on earth where you could die of encouragement.
Hollywood money isn't money. It's congealed snow, melts in your hand, and there you are.
[On Edna Ferber's Ice Palace]. . . the book, which is going to be a movie, has the plot and characters of a book which is going to be a movie.
Art is a form of catharsis.
Women and elephants never forget.
I was always sweet, at first. Oh, it's so easy to be sweet to people before you love them.
And where does she find them?
I was the toast of two continents: Greenland and Australia.
[On being told party guests were ducking for apples:] There, but for a typographical error, is the story of my life.
I can't talk about Hollywood. It was a horror to me when I was there and it's a horror to look back on. I can't imagine how I did it. When I got away from it I couldn't even refer to the place by name. ''Out there,'' I called it.
[Hospitalized and pressing the nurse's button before dictating letters to her secretary:] This should assure us of at least forty-five minutes of undisturbed privacy.
In the pathway of the sun, In the footsteps of the breeze, Where the world and sky are one, He shall ride the silver seas, He shall cut the glittering wave. I shall sit at home, and rock; Rise, to heed a neighbor's knock; Brew my tea, and snip my thread; Bleach the linen for my bed. They will call him brave.
Once, when I was young and true. Someone left me sad - Broke my brittle heart in two; And that is very bad. Love is for unlucky folk, Love is but a curse. Once there was a heart I broke; And that, I think, is worse.
By the time you swear you're his, Shivering and sighing. And he vows his passion is, Infinite, undying. Lady make note of this -- One of you is lying.
I misremember who first was cruel enough to nurture the cocktail party into life. But perhaps it would be not too much to say, in fact it would be not enough to say, that it was not worth the trouble.
The affair between Margot Asquinth and Margot Asquinth will live as one of the prettiest love stories in all literature.