that he is lying.

Love is a matter of chance; matrimony a matter of money, and divorce--a
matter of course.

Adam was the first man to "misunderstand" a woman.

A man is like a park squirrel; if you fling your favors or your charms
at his head he will never come up and eat out of your hand.

What a man calls his "conscience" is merely the mental action that
follows a sentimental reaction after too much wine or love.

In the School of Love, a man is forever just taking up a brand new
"study" and discovering that all the old loves were nothing but
"preparatory practice."

The eugenic idea of choosing a husband would be perfectly lovely, only
that a husband isn't a matter of choice, but of chance, accident or
blind luck.

Love is woman's eternal spring, man's eternal fall.

It isn't beauty, and it isn't cleverness, and it isn't clothes that make
a particular woman fascinating. It is just a sort of magnetic current
which seems to run around her and set her eyes a-twinkling--and a man's
heart tingling.

It is utterly useless to tell a man the honest truth. That is the last
thing on earth which a man ever tells a woman--so of course it's the
last thing on earth which he ever expects to hear from her.

The average man, like "all Gaul," is divided into three parts: his
vanity, his digestion and his ambition. Cater to the first, guard the
second and stimulate the third--and his love will take care of itself.

There is no such tonic for a man's nerve as a capricious wife and no
such softener for his backbone as a self-sacrificing one.

A man can sit in the moonlight and talk "New Thought" to a pretty girl
and at the same time look right into her eyes with all the old, old
ones.

Bohemia is an oasis in the desert of life where only the rich-in-dreams
may go and only the poor-in-purse may stay.

There is no way of two people really knowing each other until after they
are married and have to share the same dollar, the same table, the same
newspaper and the same chiffonier.

[Illustration]

WHAT EVERY WOMAN WONDERS

THERE are gardens full of flowers that I feared to pluck.
There are eyes full of promises that I dared not believe.
There are lips full of sweetness, from which I turned away.
I wonder if Paradise holds anything for me, one-half so beautiful
As the joys I have renounced for its sake!

A man's life is like a musical comedy; there is always on