It beats me how Freud could say "What do women want?" as if we all must want the same thing.

I used to think the only use for sport was to give small boys something else to kick besides me.

I suppose we all share this pipe-dream of being able to reach out a hand and find anything at will; what is amazing is that we think that good filing could somehow make it comes true. On the contrary: putting a letter into a filing system is like releasing your ferret in the Hampton Court maze.

I yield to no one in my admiration for the office as a social center, but it's no place actually to get any work done.

Newish friends, if they get ghastly, can be weighed and found wanting, but you'd never do a thing like that to old ones; their terrible habits are just part of the universe.

a perfectly managed Christmas correct in every detail is, like basted inside seams and letters answered by return, a sure sign of someone who hasn't enough to do.

In hell they will bore you, in heaven you will bore them.