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

Find yourself a cup; the teapot is behind you. Now tell me about hundreds of things.

I hate babies. They're so human.

I love Americans, but not when they try to talk French. What a blessing it is that they never try to talk English.

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

Children with Hyacinth's temperament don't know better as they grow older; they merely know more.

There was something alike terrifying and piteous in the spectacle of these frail old morsels of humanity consecrating their last flickering energies to the task of making each other wretched. Hatred seemed to be the one faculty which had survived in undiminished vigor where all else was dropping into ordered and symmetrical decay.