No nice men are good at getting taxis.

It's a pity more men are not bastards by birth instead of vocation.

As I look around the West End these days, it seems to me that outside every thin girl is a fat man, trying to get in.

Children and zip fasteners do not respond to force ... except occasionally.

It might be marvelous to be a man - then I could stop worrying about what's fair to women and just cheerfully assume I was superior, and that they had all been born to iron my shirts. Better still, I could be an Irish man - then I would have all the privileges of being male without giving up the right to be wayward, temperamental and an appealing minority.

From a commercial point of view, if Christmas did not exist it would be necessary to invent it.

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.