Persistent prophecy is a familiar way of assuring the event.

I hate with a bitter hatred the names of lentils haricots - those pretentious cheats of the appetite, those tabulated humbugs, those certified aridites calling themselves human food!

Money is made at Christmas out of holly and mistletoe, but who save the vendors would greatly care if no green branch were procurable?

Flippancy, the most hopeless form of intellectual vice.

In nothing more is the English genius for domesticity more notably declared than in the institution of this festival-almost one may call it-of afternoon tea...the mere chink of cups and saucers tunes the mind to happy repose.

Human creatures have a mervellous power of adapting themselves to necessity.

Life, I fancy, would very often be insupportable, but for the luxury of self compassion.