A golfer needs a loving wife to whom he can describe the day's play through the long evening.

It ought to be a criminal offence for women to dye their hair. Especially red. What the devil do women do that sort of thing for?

The cup of tea on arrival at a country house is a thing which, as a rule, I particularly enjoy. I like the crackling logs, the shaded lights, the scent of buttered toast, the general atmosphere of leisured cosiness.

He groaned slightly and winced like Prometheus watching his vulture dropping in for lunch.

When a girl uses six derogatory adjectives in her attempt to paint the portrait of the loved one, it means something. One may indicate a merely temporary tiff. Six is big stuff.

Do you ever get moods when life seems absolutely meaningless? It's like a badly-constructed story, with all sorts of characters moving in and out who have nothing to do with the plot. And when somebody comes along that you think really has something to do with the plot, he suddenly drops out. After a while you begin to wonder what the story is about, and you feel that it's about nothing—just a jumble.

Bicky rocked, like a jelly in a high wind.