I have wrought my simple plan If I give one hour of joy To the boy who’s half a man, Or the man who’s half a boy.

What a creature he was! Never have I felt such a horse between my knees. His great haunches gathered under him with every stride, and he shot forward ever faster and faster, stretched like a greyhound, while the windbeat in my face and whistled past my ears.

I get in the dumps at times, and don't open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I'll soon be right.

Why should people ever take credit for charity when they must know that they cannot gain as much pleasure out of their guineas in any other fashion?

As a rule, the more bizarre a thing is, the less mysterious it proves to be.

It's a wicked world, and when a clever man turns his brain to crime it is the worst of all.

It is horrible, yet fascinating, this struggle between a set purpose and an utterly exhausted frame.