You're always begging things to love you," he said, "as if you were a beggar for love. Even the flowers, you have to fawn on them--

I hate the actor and audience business. An author should be in among the crowd, kicking their shins or cheering them on to some mischief or merriment.

So long as you don't feel life's paltry and a miserable business, the rest doesn't matter, happiness or unhappiness.

I prefer unlucky things. Luck is vulgar. Who wants what luck would bring? I don't.

The fairest thing in nature, a flower, still has its roots in earth and manure.

A little morphine in all the air. It would be wonderfully refreshing for everyone.

Curse the blasted, jelly-boned swines, the slimy, the belly-wriggling invertebrates, the miserable soddingrotters, the flaming sods, the sniveling, dribbling, dithering, palsied, pulse-less lot that make up England today. They've got white of egg in their veins, and their spunk is that watery it's a marvel they can breed.