The English have an extraordinary ability for flying into a great calm.
There is no such thing in anyone's life as an unimportant day.
Reading Proust is like bathing in someone else's dirty water.
Babies in silk hats playing with dynamite.
It was Mrs. Campbell, for instance, who, on a celebrated occasion, threw her companion into a flurry by describing her recent marriage as "the deep, deep peace of the double-bed after the hurly-burly of the chaise-longue."
You haven't lived until you died in New York.