What baffles me is the comfort people find in the idea that somebody dealt this mess. Blind and meaningless chance seems to me so much more congenial - or at least less horrible. Prove to me that there is a God and I will really begin to despair.

Confession is good for the soul only in the sense that a tweed coat is good for dandruff - it is a palliative rather than a remedy.

Sex in marriage is like medicine. Three times a day for the first week. Then once a day for another week. Then once every three or four days till the condition clears up.

How do you expect mankind to be happy in pairs when it is miserable separately?

I wondered whether any woman could be happy with a man who says 'folderol'.

Mrs Thicknesse and I agreed that a business of his own was probably the only solution for him because he was obviously unemployable.

Look at it this way: Psychoanalysis is a permanent fad.