Happiness can never hope to command so much interest as distress.

Surely she had endured enough for one evening without having to listen to intelligent conversation?

I saw something nasty in the woodshed.

By god, DH Lawrence was right when he said there must be a dumb, dark, dull, bitter belly-tension between a man and a woman, and how else could this be achieved save in the long monotony of marriage?

She liked Victorian novels. They were the only kind of novel you could read while eating an apple.

Nature is all very well in her place, but she must not be allowed to make things untidy.

I do not object to the phenomena, but I do object to the parrot.