A man may honestly admire a superior woman; but when it comes to marrying, he usually looks about for something far enough beneath him to enjoy being ordered about and patted on the head.
A girl's heart is like her dressing-table—crowded with tenderly cherished little souvenirs of love; a man's, like his pipe, is carefully cleaned and emptied after each flame has gone out.
A man doesn't ask a girl to "name the day" any more; he merely pleads guilty to loving her and then closes his eyes while she passes sentence on him and decide when he shall begin "serving time."
When a woman reforms she bleaches her conscience down to the roots as she does her hair; a man simply gives his a coat of whitewashing so that he will have a nice, clean space in which to begin all over again.
When a bachelor sniffs through his letters before opening them in the morning, it is not a sign that he is looking for dynamite, but that he is looking for a note bearing a brand of sachet which he has mistaken for some girl's "sweet personality."
At the awakening from love's young dream the woman's first thought is, "How can I break his heart?" The man's, "How can I break away?"
A man falls in love through his eyes, a woman through her imagination, and then they both speak of it as an affair of "the heart."
No, Clarice, a man's idea of being loved isn't exactly being followed around with a hot water bottle, a box of pills and the eternal question: "Do you love me as much as ever?"
One grass widow doesn't make a summer resort—but she can always make it interesting.
When a man has baggy trousers nowadays it is from falling on his knees to an automobile—not to a girl.