We are the zanies of sorrow. We are clowns whose hearts are broken.

Bad manners make a journalist.

Knowledge would be fatal. It is the uncertainty that charms one. A mist makes things wonderful.

The birds that were singing in the dew-drenched garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her.

I regard the theatre as the greatest of all art forms, the most immediate way in which a human being can share with another the sense of what it is to be a human being.

The only possible form of exercise is to talk, not to walk.

A process which makes one rogue cleverer than another.