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

After all, damn it, what does being in love mean if you can't trust a person.

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

One forgets words as one forgets names. One's vocabulary needs constant fertilizing or it will die.

My unhealthy affection for my second daughter has waned. Now I despise all my seven children equally.

He lay back for a little in his bed thinking about the smells of food . . . of the intoxicating breath of bakeries and dullness of buns. . . . He planned dinners, of enchanting aromatic foods . . . endless dinners, in which one could alternate flavour with flavour from sunset to dawn without satiety, while one breathed great draughts of the bouquet of old brandy.

Beerbohm was a genius of the purest kind. He stands at the summit of his art.