Time is money says the proverb, but turn it around and you get a precious truth. Money is time.

To every man it is decreed: Thou shalt live alone. Happy they who imagine that they have escaped the common lot; happy, whilst they imagine it.

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.

I have the happiness of a passing moment, and what more can mortal ask?

A pipe for the hour of work; a cigarette for the hour of conception; a cigar for the hour of vacuity.

For the man sound of body and serene of mind there is no such thing as bad weather; every day has its beauty, and storms which whip the blood do but make it pulse more vigorously.

Perhaps it is while drinking tea that I most of all enjoy the sense of leisure.