Grass is hard and lumpy and damp, and full of dreadful black insects.

A grand passion is the privelege of people who have nothing to do.

Bunbury? Oh, he was quite exploded. Exploded! Was he the victim of a revolutionary outrage? I was not aware that Mr. Bunbury was interested in social legislation. If so, he is well punished for his morbidity. My dear Aunt Augusta, I mean he was found out! The doctors found out that Bunbury could not , that is what I mean—so Bunbury died. He seems to have had great confidence in the opinion of his physicians.

I prefer women with a past. They're always so damned amusing to talk to.

Every woman becomes their mother. That's their tragedy. And no man becomes his. That's his tragedy.

Art, like Nature, has her monsters

Lo! with a little rod I did but touch the honey of romance — And must I lose a soul's inheritance?