I believe there are two ways of writing novels. One is mine, making a sort of musical comedy without music and ignoring real life altogether; the other is going right deep down into life and not caring a damn.

Flowers are happy things.

Work, the what's-its-name of the thingummy and the thing-um-a-bob of the what d'you-call-it.

The voice of Love seemed to call to me, but it was a wrong number.

It is true of course, that I have a will of iron, but it can be switched off if the circumstances seem to demand it.

Many a man may look respectable, and yet be able to hide at will behind a spiral staircase.

Red hair, sir, in my opinion, is dangerous.