I dislike modern memoirs. They are generally written by people who have either entirely lost their memories, or have never done anything worth remembering.

It is in the brain that the poppy is red, that the apple is odorous, that the skylark sings.

I've now realised for the first time in my life the vital Importance of Being Earnest.

I threw the pearl of my soul into a cup of wine. I went down the primrose path to the sound of flutes. I lived on honeycomb.

Few parents nowadays pay any regard to what their children say to them. The old fashioned respect for the young is fast dying out.

Philanthropy [has become] simply the refuge of people who wish to annoy their fellow creatures.

But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid. Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions. How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the Church. But then in the Church they don't think.