Living in an age of advertisement, we are perpetually disillusioned.

It is hard to tell where the MCC ends and the Church of England begins.

Those no-sooner-have-I-touched-the-pillow people are past my comprehension. There is something bovine about them.

We must beware the revenge of the starved senses, the embittered animal in its prison.

Marriage is like paying an endless visit in your worst clothes.

Our dourest parsons, who followed the nonconformist fashion of long extemporary prayers, always seemed to me to be bent on bullying God.

There are plenty of clever young writers. But there is too much genius, not enough talent.