Any one of the strange laws we suffer is a compromise between a fad and a vested interest.

Individually, men may present a more or less rational appearance, eating, sleeping, and scheming. But humanity a a whole is changeful, mystical, fickle, delightful. Men are men, but Man is a woman.

Against a dark sky all flowers look like fireworks. There is something strange about them, at once vivid and secret, like flowers traced in fire in the phantasmal garden of a witch.

People generally quarrel because they cannot argue.

The sort of man who admires Italian art while despising Italian religion is a tourist and a cad.

But we are the people of England; and we have not spoken yet. Smile at us, pay us, pass us. But do not quite forget.

If, therefore, nonsense is really to be the literature of the future, it must have its own version of the Cosmos to offer; the world must not only be tragic, romantic, and religious, it must be nonsensical also.