The waste, the insane freaks of these money men, the cynicism and egotism of their life... I'll show that they are not brilliant, not romantic, not delightful, not intelligent.

Anyone would think a thin stick like me, weak and miserable, would go down with everything: do you think I get more than my old cough every winter? I bet I live till ninety, with all my aches and pains. To think that's fifty more years of the Great-I-Am.

Money goes where money is, money yearns where money is.

Weak, tea-drinking, effeminate, ineffectual--masters of India, robbers of South Africa, bedevillers of all Europe.

There'll be no sense in sexual theories until women start telling their minds; and, of course, until they have some.

Pukka sahib or rank outsider--gentleman or bounder--and it's accent, accent, all the way.

Each Australian is a Ulysses.