He looked haggard and careworn, like a Borgia who has suddenly remembered that he has forgotten to shove cyanide in the consommé, and the dinner-gong due any moment.

Half a league Half a league Half a league onward With a hey-nonny-nonny And a hot cha-cha.

The Duke of Dunstable had one-way pockets. He would walk ten miles in the snow to chisel an orphan out of tuppence.

So always look for the silver lining And try to find the sunny side of life.

They were real golfers, for real golf is a thing of the spirit, not of mere mechanical excellence of stroke.

When you're alone you don't do much laughing.

Joan was nothing more than a friend. He was not in love with her. One does not fall in love with a girl whom one has met only three times. One is attracted, yes; but one does not fall in love. A moment's reflection enabled him to diagnose his sensations correctly. This odd impulse to leap across the compartment and kiss Joan was not love. It was merely the natural desire of a good-hearted young man to be decently chummy with his species.