It is not the eyes of others that I am wary of, but my own.

As one gets older, one discovers everything is going to be exactly the same with different hats on.

Criticism and Bolshevism have one thing in common. They both seek to pull down that which they could never build.

Many years ago I remember a famous actress explaining to me with perfect seriousness that before making an entrance she always stood aside to allow God to go on first. I can also remember that on that particular occasion He gave a singularly uninspired performance.

The theatre should be treated with respect. The theatre is a wonderful place, a house of strange enchantment, a temple of illusion. What it most emphatically is not and never will be is a scruffy, ill-lit, fumed-oak drill hall serving as a temporary soap box for political propaganda.

Wit ought to be a glorious treat like caviar; never spread it about like marmalade.

I write at high speed because boredom is bad for my health.