[On golf:] One of the most distressing defects of civilization.

Progress. There's a good deal too much o' this progress about nowadays, an', what's more, it'll have to stop.

What a strange distance there is between ill people and well ones.

we are so little, so ignorant, so feeble an infant race crawling on a planet between immensities we haven't even begun to understand, that really we have no grounds for either congratulation or despair.

[On golf:] One of the most distressing defects of civilization.

The only difficulty is to know what bits to choose and what to leave out. Novel-writing is not creation, it is selection.

the ruder lecturers are, and the louder their voices, the more converts they make to their opinions.