... the understatement, the self-ridicule, the delight in the foreignness of foreigners, the complete denial of any attempt to enlist the sympathies of his readers in the hardships he has capriciously invited.

When I reached C Company lines, which were at the top of the hill, I paused and looked back at the camp, just coming into full view below me through the grey mist of early morning.

No one could really hate a saint, could they? They can't really hate God either. When they want to Hate Him and His saints they have to find something like themselves and pretends it's God and hate that.

One can write, think and pray exclusively of others; dreams are all egocentric.

If we can't stamp out literature in the country, we can at least stop its being brought in from outside.

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

Remember that, however patient your study, you will never in adult life learn any language perfectly; the best you can hope for is to be a bore.