Alexander Woollcott (1887 – 1943)
American critic and journalist known for his involvement in the Algonquin Round Table and his writings in The New Yorker magazine.
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I have no need of your God-damned sympathy. I only wish to be entertained by some of your grosser reminiscences.
At 83 Shaw's mind was perhaps not quite as good as it used to be, but it was still better than anyone else's.
I've never had the impertinence to be sorry for Helen Keller. I'd as soon be sorry for Niagara Falls. But now as I bring the story up to date, I'm shriveled with shame when I recall that at times in my life — my easy life — I've actually been sorry for myself. You too? We've got our nerve, haven't we?
Once in pre-war days, when curiously-bonneted women drivers were familiar sights at the taxi-wheels, I cried out to one in my dismay: "Is there no speed limit in this mad city?"
"Oh, yes, monsieur," she answered sweetly over her shoulder, "but no one has ever succeeded in reaching it."
[You look like] a dishonest Abe Lincoln.
I must get out of these wet clothes and into a dry martini.
All the things I really like to do are either illegal, immoral, or fattening.
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