The one stream of poetry which is continually flowing is slang.

The old idea that the joke was not good enough for the company has been superseded by the new aristocratic idea that the company was not worthy of the joke. They have introduced an almost insane individualism into that one form of intercourse which is specially and uproariously communal. They have made even levities into secrets. They have made laughter lonelier than tears.

At the bottom of all the tributes paid to democracy is the little man, walking into the little booth, with a little pencil, making a little cross on a little bit of paper. . . .

Love means to love that which is unlovable; or it is no virtue at all.

One must somehow find a way of loving the world without trusting it; somehow one must love the world without being worldly.

Children feel the whiteness of the lily with a graphic and passionate clearness which we cannot give them at all. The only thing we can give them is information-the information that if you break the lily in two it won't grow again.

It is much easier to write a good Times leading article than a good joke in Punch.