Somehow, our sense of justice never turns in its sleep till long after the sense of injustice in others has been thoroughly aroused.

There is in the human race some dark spirit of recalcitrance, always pulling us in the direction contrary to that in which we are reasonably expected to go.

Of course we all know that Morris was a wonderful all-round man, but the act of walking round him has always tired me.

History does not repeat itself. The historians repeat one another.

It seems to be a law of nature that no man, unless he has some obvious physical deformity, ever is loth to sit for his portrait.

People seem to think there is something inherently noble and virtuous in the desire to go for a walk.

Strange when you come to think of it, that of all countless folk who have lived on this planet, not one is known in history or in legend as having died of laughter.