Slice him where you like, a hellhound is always a hellhound.

-'What do ties matter, Jeeves, at a time like this?' There is no time, sir, at which ties do not matter

Other men puffed, snorted, and splashed. George passed through the ocean with the silent dignity of a torpedo. Other men swallowed water, here a mouthful, there a pint, anon, maybe, a quart or so, and returned to the shore like foundering derelicts. George's mouth had all the exclusiveness of a fashionable club. His breast stroke was a thing to see and wonder at. When he did the crawl, strong men gasped. When he swam on his back, you felt that that was the only possible method of progression.

Her pupils were at once her salvation and her despair. They gave her the means of supporting life, but they made life hardly worth supporting.

Oh, I don't know, you know, don't you know?

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

When you have been just told that the girl you love is definitely betrothed to another, you begin to understand how Anarchists must feel when the bomb goes off too soon.