I shoved on a dressing-gown, and flew downstairs like a mighty, rushing wind.

I never want to see anyone, and I never want to go anywhere or do anything. I just want to write.

The only way of really finding out a man's true character is to play golf with him. In no other walk of life does the cloven hoof so quickly display itself.

I pressed down the mental accelerator. The old lemon throbbed fiercely. I got an idea.

I suppose half the time Shakespeare just shoved down anything that came into his head.

The stationmaster's whiskers are of a Victorian bushiness and give the impression of having been grown under glass.

I am not always good and noble. I am the hero of this story, but I have my off moments.