Alison: To me a woman in love is a pathetic spectacle; she’s either so miserable that she wants to die or she’s so happy you want to die.
Harriet: Aren’t you ever going to marry?
Alison: No, thanks. Not me. You know, a long time ago I decided to travel the same open road men travel. So I treat men exactly the way they’ve always treated women.
Harriet: You evidently haven’t much respect for men.
Alison: I know for some women a man is a household necessity, myself I’d rather have a canary.
Roger Grant: Don’t you understand? I’m an artist. Like Pygmalion.
Stella Kirby: Like who?
Roger Grant: Oh, just a Greek who took a hunk of marble, molded it and polished it into a beautiful woman. Then he fell in love with it.
Stella Kirby: Then you mean you’ve just fallen in love with your, with your. . .
Roger Grant: . . .handiwork.
Stella Kirby: Oh, that isn’t so. You loved me from the first day you saw me, platinum hair, loud mouth and everything.
Roger Grant: I guess you’re right.
Stella Kirby: This is the real thing, isn’t it?
Roger Grant: It’s the realest thing that ever happened to me.