The first favourite was never heard of, the second favourite was never seen after the distance post, all the ten-to-oners were in the rear, and a dark horse which had never been thought of, and which the careless St. James had never even observed in the list, rushed past the grand stand in sweeping triumph.

Silence is the mother of truth.

Were it not for music, we might in these days say, the Beautiful is dead.

The legacy of heroes is the memory of a great name and the inheritance of a great example.

That soul-subduing sentiment, harshly called flirtation, which is the spell of a country house.

Women carry a beautiful hand with them to the grave, when a beautiful face has long ago vanished.

London is a roost for every bird.