Dark hair fell in a sweep over his forehead. He looked like a man who would write vers libre, as indeed he did.

Say what you will, there is something fine about our old aristocracy. I'll bet Trotsky couldn't hit a moving secretary with an egg on a dark night.

Rex Stout's narrative and dialogue could not be improved, and he passes the supreme test of being rereadable. I don't know how many times I have reread the Wolfe stories, but plenty. I know exactly what is coming and how it is all going to end, but it doesn't matter. That's writing.

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

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 felt like a man who, chasing rainbows, has had one of them suddenly turn and bite him in the leg.

You can't be a successful Dictator and design women's underclothing.