She had been so wicked that in all her life she had done only one good deed-given an onion to a beggar. So she went to hell. As she lay in torment she saw the onion, lowered down from heaven by an angel. She caught hold of it. He began to pull her up. The other damned saw what was happening and caught hold of it too. She was indignant and cried, "Let go-it's my onion," and as soon as she said, "my onion," the stalk broke and she fell back into the flames.

To trust people is a luxury in which only the wealthy can indulge; the poor cannot afford it.

For it is a serious thing to have been watched. We all radiate something curiously intimate when we believe ourselves to be alone.

There is something majestic in the bad taste of Italy.

We are willing enough to praise freedom when she is safely tucked away in the past and cannot be a nuisance. In the present, amidst dangers whose outcome we cannot foresee, we get nervous about her, and admit censorship.

So, two cheers for Democracy: one because it admits variety and two because it permits criticism.

Railway termini are our gates to the glorious and the unknown