It is a rule of creative ability that it does nothing of any value, while it is possessed by this afflatus of vanity.

The white man in the tropics degenerates every day.

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

If misery spelled revolt, we should have had nothing but revolt from the beginning of time. On the contrary, it is quite rare.

It's fine to be a great democrat when you've a slave to rub your boots on.

There are so may ways to kills yourself, they're just old-fashioned with their permanganate: do you think I'd take permanganate? I wouldn't want to burn my insides out and live to tell the tale as well: idiots! It's simple, I'd drown myself... Why be in misery at the last?

The City is a machine miraculously organised for extracting gold from the seas, airs, clouds, from barren lands, holds of ships, mines, plantations, cottage hearth-stones, trees and rocks; and he, wretchedly waiting in the exterior halls, could not even get his finger on one tiny, tiny lever.