[To Jean Harlow, who repeatedly mispronounced her first name:] No, no, Jean. The t is silent, as in Harlow.

From the happy expression on their faces you might have supposed that they welcomed the war. I have met with men who loved stamps, and stones, and snakes, but I could not imagine any man loving war.

Haunted from my early youth by the transitoriness and pathos of life, I was aware that it is not enough to say "I am doing no harm," I ought to be testing myself daily, and asking myself what I am really achieving.

His modesty amounts to deformity.

I do not say I was ever what I would call "plain," but I have the sort of face that bores me when I see it on other people.

the announcement that you are going to tell a good story (and the chuckle that precedes it) is always a dangerous opening.

I was born in the country of Hogg and Scott between the Yarrow and the Tweed, in the year 1864.