I Do Like Italian Graves; They Look

Silence Sat In The Taxi, As Though A Stranger Had Got In.

Yes, Writing A Novel, My Boy, Is Like Driving Pigs To Market - You Have One Of Them Making A Bolt Down The Wrong Lane; Another Won't Get Over The Right Stile.

The Paradox Of Romantic Love -- That What One Possesses, One Can No Longer Desire -- Was At Work.

Chance Is Better Than Choice; It Is More Lordly. Chance Is God, Choice Is Man.

On The Subject Of Dress Almost No One, For One Or Another Reason, Feels Truly Indifferent: If Their Own Clothes Do Not Concern Them, Somebody Else's Do.