Every Englishman abroad, until it is proved to the contrary, likes to consider himself a traveller and not a tourist.

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

We schoolmasters must temper discretion with deceit.

I don't believe that people would ever fall in love or want to be married if they hadn't been told about it. It's like abroad: no one would want to go there if they hadn't been told it existed.

His courtesy was somewhat extravagant. He would write and thank people who wrote to thank him for wedding presents and when he encountered anyone as punctilious as himself the correspondence ended only with death.

We cherish our friends not for their ability to amuse us, but for ours to amuse them...

I think there's almost nothing I can't excuse except perhaps worshiping graven images. That seems to be idiotic.