She looked like something that might have occured to Ibsen in one of his less frivolous moments.

While not exactly disgruntled, he was far from feeling gruntled. He spoke with a certain what-is-it in his voice, and I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled.

It was loud in spots and less loud in other spots, and it had that quality which I have noticed in all violin solos of seeming to last much longer than it actually did.

The least thing upset him on the links. He missed short putts because of the uproar of the butterflies in the adjoining meadows.

It was my Uncle George who discovered that alcohol was a food well in advance of modern medical thought.

Freddie experienced the sort of abysmal soul-sadness which afflicts one of Tolstoy's Russian peasants when, after putting in a heavy day's work strangling his father, beating his wife, and dropping the baby into the city's reservoir, he turns to the cupboards, only to find the vodka bottle empty.

But everything is relative, Bertie... You, for instance, are my relative, and I am your relative.