That's the only sense in which I've been lucky: I have the kind of face to which cosmetics could be applied.

The English think that incompetence is the same thing as sincerity.

While I have very little to say in favor of sex (it's vastly overrated, it's frequently unnecessary, and it's messy), it is greatly to be preferred to the interminable torments of romantic agony through which two people tear one another limb from limb while professing altruistic devotion.

It's a strange situation, but people will pay your fare to get you to go and tell them how to be happy.

I recommend limiting one's involvement in other people's lives to a pleasantly scant minimum.

As far as I know, you can fancy someone, you can enjoy their company or you can wish them well. But what being in love is, I don't know.

I don't really act. I say the words the way I would say them if I meant them.