After three days without one, the desire to read a newspaper vanished. And really, one was happier without.

Weak people can be very stubborn.

I expect this is what death is like when you meet it. Sort of wildly unfair but inevitable.

Truth is often terribly thin, don't you think?

The trouble with you, dear, is that you think an angel of the Lord as a creature with wings, whereas he is probably a scruffy little man with a bowler hat.

There were people whose only interest in life was writing letters. To the newspapers, to authors, to strangers, to City Councils, to the police. It did not much matter to whom; the satisfaction of writing seemed to be all.

After three days without one, the desire to read a newspaper vanished. And really, one was happier without.