Newness hath an evanescent beauty.

The foolish race of mankind are swarming below in the night; they shriek and rage and quarrel - and all of them are right.

The devil take these people and their language! They take a dozen monosyllabic words in their jaws, chew them, crunch them and spit them out again, and call that speaking. Fortunately they are by nature fairly silent, and although they gaze at us open-mouthed, they spare us long conversations.

Pretty women without religion are like flowers without perfume.

Whenever books are burned, men also in the end are burned.

From every Englishman emanates a kind of gas, the deadly choke-damp of boredom.

There is one thing on earth more terrible than English music, and that is English painting.