[On journalists:] They are the scavengers of society who, possessing no guts of their own, tear out the guts of celebrities. They have the sycophantic, false enthusing gush of maiden aunts: who are accustomed to being trampled on doormats.

money ... is only important when you have none; and though it may not be everything, it goes a very long way towards blocking up the winter draft of age.

there is this malign curse laid on dipsomaniacs. That they must absolutely have a drink: in order to feel strong enough to stop drinking.

I don't trust sentimentality in men; it goes with tyranny; you can't have one without the other.

England, where nobody ever says what they mean: and by denying feeling, kill it off stone-cold at the roots.

There is a brotherliness about a drinking person, which is coldly lacking in the straight and narrow enemies of drink; the difference between the two is more marked than nationality or belief: it is an opposite species altogether. It is against the unwritten laws of congeniality for them to mix. For me, a man who does not drink is distinctly indecent.

There is, happily, no limit to the faith of human nature in believing what it wants to believe.