We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us.

I wonder do the gods know what it feels like to be a man.

Love is something more stern and splendid than mere kindness.

Things never happen the same way twice.

And there’s also ‘To him that hath shall be given.’ After all, you must have a capacity to receive, or even omnipotence can’t give. Perhaps your own passion temporarily destroys the capacity.

The mouse is a fair treat but this one would talk the hind legs off a donkey.

A Centaur has a man-stomach and a horse-stomach. And of course both want breakfast. So first of all he has porridge and pavenders and kidneys and bacon and omlette and cold ham and toast and marmalade and coffee and beer. And after that he tends to the horse part of himself by grazing for an hour or so and finishing up with a hot mash, some oats, and a bag of sugar. That's why it's such a serious thing to ask a Centaur to stay for the weeekend. A very serious thing indeed.