It would take more than long-stemmed roses to change my view that you're a despicable cowardy custard and a disgrace to a proud family. Your ancestors fought in the Crusades and were often mentioned in despatches, and you cringe like a salted snail at the thought of appearing as Santa Claus before an audience of charming children who wouldn't hurt a fly. It's enough to make an aunt turn her face to the wall and give up the struggle.

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.

What ho!" I said. "What ho!" said Motty. "What ho! What ho!" "What ho! What ho! What ho!" After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation.

This is peculiarly an age in which each of us may, if he do but search diligently, find the literature suited to his mental powers.

I suppose half the time Shakespeare just shoved down anything that came into his head.

Memories are like mulligatawny soup in a cheap restaurant. It is wiser not to stir them.

you ever have that feeling when you step down onto a footstep that isn't there?