I hate babies. They're so human.

The man is a common murderer. A common murderer, possible, but a very uncommon cook.

There are certain fixed rules that one observes for one's own comfort. For instance, never be flippantly rude to any inoffensive grey-bearded stranger that you may meet in pine forests or hotel smoking-rooms on the Continent. It always turns out to be the King of Sweden.

To be clever in the afternoon argues that one is dining nowhere in the evening.

A beautifully constructed borshch, such as you are going to experience presently, ought not only to banish conversation but almost to annihilate thought.

In baiting a mousetrap with cheese, always leave room for the mouse.

He's simply got the instinct for being unhappy highly developed.