Free as air; that's what they say- "free as air". Now they bring me my air in an iron barrel.

I think it's one of the kindest things you can do to the very wicked, to give them time to repent.

Soon someone would say the fatal words, "Well, I think it’s time for me to go to bed.

Charm is the great English blight. It does not exist outside these damp islands. It spots and kills anything it touches. It kills love; it kills art; I greatly fear, my dear Charles, it has killed you.

I am annoyed to find myself continually described by people whom I have never set eyes on as bad-tempered.

Never get mixed up in a Welsh wrangle. It doesn't end in blows like an Irish one, but goes on forever.

...she had regained what I thought she had lost forever, the magical sadness which had drawn me to her, the thwarted look that had seemed to say, "Surely I was made for some other purpose than this?