How ungenerously in later life we disclaim the virtuous moods of our youth, living in retrospect long, summer days of unreflecting dissipation.
News is what a chap who doesn't care much about anything wants to read.
We class schools into four grades: leading school, first-rate school, good school and school.
Not everyone grows to be old, but everyone has been younger than he is now.
You never find an Englishman among the under-dogs except in England, of course.
The anguished suspense of watching the lips you hunger for, framing the words, the death sentence, of sheer triteness!