Yes; poor Bunbury is a dreadful invalid. Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time that Mr. Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going to live or to die. This shillyshallying with the question is absurd.

A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told to say at the age of eighteen.

Never love anyone who treats you like you're ordinary.

Paradoxically though it may seem, it is none the less true that life imitates art far more than art imitates life.

The typewriting machine, when played with expression, is no more annoying than the piano when played by a sister or near relation.

Her capacity for family affection is extraordinary. When her third husband died, her hair turned quite gold from grief.

What is beautiful is a joy for all seasons.