Punctuality is the virtue of the bored.

The anguished suspense of watching the lips you hunger for, framing the words, the death sentence, of sheer triteness!

Self-sufficiency at home, self-assertion abroad.

He did not fail in love, but he lost the joy of it [...]

Feather-footed through the plashy fen passes the questing vole.'-William Boot

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.

Manners are especially the need of the plain. The pretty can get away with anything.