Questions are never indiscreet, answers sometimes are.

Like dear St. Francis of Assisi I am wedded to Poverty: but in my case the marriage is not a success.

It is a very poor consolation to be told that the man who has given one a bad dinner, or poor wine, is irreproachable in private life. Even the cardinal virtues cannot atone for half-cold entrees.

The only link between Literature and the Drama left to us in England at the present moment is the bill of the play.

Those who have much are often greedy. Those who have little always share.

Through our sunless lanes creeps Poverty with her hungry eyes, and Sin with his sodden face follows close behind her. Misery wakes us in the morning and Shame sits with us at night.

Many people become bankrupt through having invested too heavily in the prose of life. To have ruined one's self over poetry is an honor.