Irish gardens beat all for horror. With 19 gardeners, Lord Talbot of Malahide has produced an affair exactly like a suburban golf course.

An aristocracy in a republic is like a chicken whose head has been cut off: it may run about in a lively way, but in fact it is dead.

A typical Irish dinner would be: cream flavored with lobster, cream with bits of veal in it, green peas and cream, cream cheese, cream flavored with strawberries.

Life itself, she thought, as she went upstairs to dress for dinner, was stranger than dreams and far, far more disordered.

The great advantage of living in a large family is that early lesson of life's essential unfairness.

There are worse things than poverty, though I can't for the moment remember what they are.

Life is sometimes sad and often dull, but there are currants in the cake, and here is one of them.