Now if the harvest is over, And the world cold, Give me the bonus of laughter, As I lose hold.

I have a Vision of the Future, chum. The workers flats in fields of soya beans tower up like silver pencils, score on score.

And now, dear Lord, I cannot wait Because I have a luncheon date.

On out deathbeds we're not going to regret all the work we didn't do. We're going to regret all the sex we didn't have!

Lovers of Norfolk churches can never agree which is the best and I think one is either a Salle or a Cawston man.

Hymns are the poetry of the people.

What the Londoner sees in his mind's eye is that cluster of towers and pinnacles seen from Pentonville Hill and outlined against a foggy sunset, and the great arc of Barlow's train shed gaping to devour incoming engines, and the sudden burst of exuberant Gothic of the hotel seen from gloomy Judd Street.