Venice Muir: People who live in glass houses shouldn't live in glass houses.

Ann Duryea: I'm glad you're here Donnie. I have a bone to pick with you.

Donnie Wainwright: Oh, well, let's pick it over there, under the piano.

Ann Duryea: Very well.

Venice Muir: I guess I'm too - pure. Well, nothing I can do about that. I wonder...

Aunt Emma: Well, dear, what does interests young men nowadays?

Venice Muir: If I knew the answer to that, darling, I wouldn't be sitting here all wrapped up in gloom.

Mr. Patridge: All the pleasure of dancing with a lovely young lady and none of the hazards.

Venice Muir: Oh, Mr. Patridge, you can be a little hazardous.

Party Guest: Who's that girl?

Donnie Wainwright: Which one?

Party Guest: The one in white over there, wasting that gorgeous smile on old man Patridge.

Donnie Wainwright: Oh, that's Venice Muir.

Party Guest: Well, I'm cutting in.

Donnie Wainwright: Go ahead. She's a nice girl. Nicest girl I know. Old Patridge is her lawyer. You know, custody of her estate. He said he used to take her over his knee and spank her, et cetera.

Party Guest: Well, he can be her lawyer or trustee, I'll, eh, take the et cetera.

Donnie Wainwright: She's too gloomy.

Lola: Oh, she is not. Why, Venice is the sweetest girl here. She has a positively beautiful sense of humor. And, underneath, why, she's really warm - and vibrant - and mysterious.

Donnie Wainwright: Venice?

Lola: Yes, Venice. And she isn't shop-worn!

Lola: Someday a man with a nose for adventure is going to come along - and - discover Venice. And you can just bet that he'll have the most exciting time of any man in New York.

Donnie Wainwright: I love your sense of humor; but, don't use it just now.

Guy Bryson: You look like a - good girl.

Venice Muir: Oh, do I?

Guy Bryson: You are a good girl, aren't you?

Venice Muir: Yes, I'm afraid that may be my trouble.

Venice Muir: Would you like to earn some money?

Guy Bryson: I'll do anything short of murder.

Venice Muir: Well, would you work for me?

Guy Bryson: Well, sure, why not?

Venice Muir: Well, I know this, eh, funny thing to ask anyone, but, I was wondering, could you be a, sort of, well, eh, sort of, a gigolo?

Guy Bryson: I spent an hour at the Ritz bar after I left you. Oh, lady, lady, when I left there, a lot of the fellas said that you were simply wonderful! You had everything! Even a very, eh, a very slight past.

Venice Muir: Past?

Guy Bryson: Oh, nothing you could put your finger on. But, a lot of the boys will try.

Venice Muir: Oh, I'll die. I couldn't live up to the past of a midget!

Guy Bryson: You don't know midgets. Now, I heard of a midget that broke up the home of a heavy weight champ.

Guy Bryson: We're bound to met some fellas here.

Venice Muir: Oh, Guy, I'm scared.

Guy Bryson: Oh, come along. So was Eve and look what a mess she made of Adam.

Venice Muir: Oh, I know; but, I don't want to make a mess of anyone.

Guy Bryson: I know, my pet, they never want to.

Guy Bryson: Courage, my pet. Courage.

Venice Muir: Good night, Guy. You're a perfect gigolo.

Guy Bryson: When did you get the idea you say good night to a gigolo?

Venice Muir: Why, what do you mean?

Guy Bryson: Get up. I hate to see a woman on her knees, unless, she''s scrubbing.

Guy Bryson: Come along, come along. I want to give you a practical lesson in what used to be called sin.

Guy Bryson: Good night, Venice. You're swell. Everything's gonna work out all right.

Venice Muir: Thanks. You are a perfect gigolo. I almost feel like kissing you!

Guy Bryson: What could I do? I'd have to stand it.

Venice Muir: [Jokingly] You're horrid!

Guy Bryson: I still think the bicycle races are more interesting than the polo match.

Guy Bryson: The trouble with you Argentines is a lack of confidence. That's why you lost the war.

Carlos Santiagos: What war?

Guy Bryson: I don't know, any war. What war were you in?

Donnie Wainwright: Well, I guess the only place I could talk to you would be while you're taking a bath.

Donnie Wainwright: Say you've got lovely hair. Where did you get it?

Venice Muir: I've had it for years.

Venice Muir: You seem unusually gay tonight, Rene, and rightfully so. It's a lovely party.

Venice Muir: What's the matter, Rene? A few moments ago you seemed gay!

Guy Bryson: Don't throw away your red flannel underwear the minute I get off this boat.

Guy Bryson: [Repeated line] Goodbye, my pet.

Donnie Wainwright: You shouldn't have done that.

Venice Muir: No, Donnie, I shouldn't have.

Donnie Wainwright: Oh, why not lay off me till I get my perspective back. And, if you're still interested, we might be - playmates. Well, you won't be lonesome in the meantime.

Venice Muir: What are you saying?

Donnie Wainwright: Oh, don't suddenly go innocent on me!

Venice Muir: Are we really going to the bicycle races?

Guy Bryson: Let's go on a crying drunk. No, no, I can't tonight. I've got to go to the bicycle races.

Guy Bryson: What do you think about the bicycle races?

Carlos Santiagos: Bi-cycle races are idiotic.

Guy Bryson: What's so idiotic about 'em?

Carlos Santiagos: They don't get any where.

Guy Bryson: I suppose polo players do?

Carlos Santiagos: Certainly, to the goal post.

Guy Bryson: Well, bicycle races get to the finish.

Carlos Santiagos: The finish is the start.

Guy Bryson: Well, nevertheless, we're going to the bi-cycle races.

Venice Muir: I hope we don't meet any more men in here, Guy. My ankle won't stand it!

Guy Bryson: I'm sorry, Venice.

Venice Muir: Couldn't you find somewhere else to kick me, for a change?

Guy Bryson: Well, I could, but it wouldn't be refined.

Venice Muir: Oh, Guy!

Venice Muir: We're going to the bicycle races, aren't we?

Carl: Well, they only started tonight. You have all week to get there.

Guy Bryson: We may need it.

Guy Bryson: What am I supposed to do to earn this money?

Venice Muir: Well, that's a little awkward to explain.

Guy Bryson: Well, I'll understand. I've read what every young man should know.

Venice Muir: I haven't.

Guy Bryson: We're going to the bicycle races in a few minutes.

Guy Bryson: I'll teach you, my pet.

Guy Bryson: I think anything might be possible with you.

Venice Muir: I've simply got to stop talking to myself. I talk to myself so much I'm worn out when I meet people.

Venice Muir: Oh, Guy, you're so clever. How is it possible for one human being to know so much?

Guy Bryson: I should know. I've had two wives... shot out from underneath me.