He gave me a look of great contempt; as I supposed, for venturing, even by implication, to draw a parallel between a lack of affluence that might, literally, affect my purchase of rare vintages, and a figure of speech intended delicately to convey his own dire want for the bare necessities of life. He remained silent for several seconds, as if trying to make up his mind whether he could ever bring himself to speak to me again; and then said gruffly: 'I've got to go now.'

[T]here is no greater sign of innate misery than a love of teasing.

Self-love seems so often unrequited.

Parents. . . are sometimes a bit of a disappointment to their children. They don't fulfil the promise of their early years.

Dinner at the Huntercombes' possessed only two dramatic features - the wine was a farce and the food a tragedy.

You have to be a product of the product.

A dance to the music of time.