[On being told their loquacious, domineering host was 'outspoken':] By whom?

This is me apologizing. I am a fool, a bird-brain, a liar and a horse-thief. I wouldn't touch a superlative again with an umbrella.

The ones I like are ‘cheque’ and ‘enclosed.’

Three highballs, and I think I'm St. Francis of Assisi.

If I had a shiny gun I could have a world of fun Speeding bullets through the brains Of the folks that cause me pains :)

The affair between Margot Asquith and Margot Asquith will live as one of the prettiest love stories in all literature.

The plot is so tired that even this reviewer, who in infancy was let drop by a nurse with the result that she has ever since been mystified by amateur coin tricks, was able to guess the identity of the murderer from the middle of the book.