When Danger Reared Its Ugly Head, He

One, Two, ... Five!" "three, My Lord.

A Murderer Is Only An Extroverted Suicide.

Mcgough: I'm Sorry. I'm Afraid I've Caught Poetry. Mr Bones: Oh Really? Well, Don't Worry, Sir - I Used To Suffer From Short Stories. Mcgough: Really? When? Mr Bones: Oh, Once Upon A Time...

I Mean, If I Went 'round Saying I Was An Emperor, Just Because Some Moistened Bint Had Lobbed A Scimitar At Me, They'd Put Me Away!

Health Care Does Not Worry Me A Great Deal. I've Been Impressed By Some Wonderful Old People.