He is very imprudent, a dog; he never makes it his business to inquire whether you are in the right or the wrong, never asks whether you are rich or poor, silly or wise, sinner or saint. You are his pal. That is enough for him.

It is very strange, this domination of our intellect by our digestive organs. We cannot work, we cannot think, unless our stomach wills so. It dictates to us our emotions, our passions.

I saw a great Newfoundland dog the other day sitting in front of a mirror at the entrance to a shop in Regent's Circus, and examining himself with an amount of smug satisfaction that I have never seen equaled elsewhere outside a vestry meeting.

I don't understand German myself. I learned it at school, but forgot every word of it two years after I had left, and have felt much better ever since.

Ambition is only vanity ennobled.

Fox-terriers are born with about four times as much original sin in them as other dogs.

We must not think of the things we could do with, but only of the things that we can't do without.