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

There are three things in the world that he held in the smallest esteem - slugs, poets and caddies with hiccups.

The storm is over, there is sunlight in my heart. I have a glass of wine and sit thinking of what has passed.

She had more curves than a scenic railway

Every author really wants to have letters printed in the papers. Unable to make the grade, he drops down a rung of the ladder and writes novels.

[He] saw that a peculiar expression had come into his nephew's face; an expression a little like that of a young hindu fakir who having settled himself on his first bed of spikes is beginning to wish that he had chosen one of the easier religions.

Marriage is not a process for prolonging the life of love, sir. It merely mummifies its corpse.