The job of the critic is to report to us his moods.

Death is a great price to pay for a red rose“, cried the Nightingale, "and Life is very dear to all. “ It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent oft he hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?

Life is not complex. We are complex. Life is simple, and the simple thing is the right thing.

I find that forgiving one's enemies is a most curious morbid pleasure; perhaps I should check it.

Perhaps one never seems so much at ones ease as when one has to play a part.

You can't possibly ask me to go without having some dinner. It's absurd. I never go without my dinner. No one ever does, except vegetarians and people like that.

To be popular one must be a mediocrity.