“Prentice: It's ridiculous. I'm a married man.
Match: Marriage excuses no one the freaks' roll-call.”

“I'm not the marrying kind -"
St. Vincent snorted. "No man is. Marriage is a female invention.”

“I'm anal retentive. I'm a workaholic. I have insomnia. And I'm a control freak. That's why I'm not married. Who could stand me?”

“The reclusive man who marries the gregarious woman, the timid woman who marries the courageous man, the idealist who marries the realist — we can all see these unions: the marriages in which tenderness meets loyalty, where generosity sweetens moroseness, where a sense of beauty eases some aridity of the spirit, are not so easy for outsiders to recognize; the parties themselves may not be fully aware of such elements in a good match.”

“I'm a ROLLS-ROYCE! A MAN-EATING ROLLS-ROYCE!”

“The tragedy of marriage is that while all women marry thinking that their man will change, all men marry believing their wife will never change.”

“Mrs Prentice: Have you taken up transvestism? I'd no idea our marriage teetered on the edge of fashion.”

“Finally, a human man saw me as intensely valuable. Just my luck he was happily married and thought I was a freak.”

“Prentice: What this young woman claims is a tissue of lies.
Match: This is a boy, sir. Not a girl. If you're baffled by the difference it might be as well to approach both with caution.”

“excuse me' he added, taking the opera glasses out of her hands and looking over her bare shoulder at the row of boxes opposite, 'i'm afraid i'm becoming ridiculous”