I'm an enormously talented man, and there's no use pretending that I'm not.

At twelve noon, The natives swoon And no further work is doneBut mad dogs and Englishmen, Go out in the midday sun.

I can take any amount of criticism, as long as it is unqualified praise.

There are bad times just around the corner, There are dark clouds travelling through the sky, And it's no good whining, About a silver lining, For we know from experience they won't roll by...

Someday I suspect, when Jesus has definitely got me for a sunbeam, my works may be adequately assessed.

That strange feeling we had in the war. Have you found anything in your lives since to equal it in strength? A sort of splendid carelessness it was, holding us together.

The higher the building the lower the morals.