Hating anything in the way of ill-natured gossip ourselves, we are always grateful to those who do it for us and do it well.
Hors d’oeuvres have always a pathetic interest for me; they remind me of one’s childhood that one goes through wondering what the next course is going to be like – and during the rest of the menu one wishes one had eaten more of the hors d’oeuvres.
No one can be an unbeliever nowadays. The Christian apologists have left one nothing to disbelieve.
The young have aspirations that never come to pass, the old have reminiscences of what never happened.
He’s simply got the instinct for being unhappy highly developed.
Find yourself a cup of tea, the teapot is behind you. Now tell me about hundreds of things.
The man is a common murderer. A common murderer, possible, but a very uncommon cook.
You needn’t tell me that a man who doesn’t love oysters and asparagus and good wines has got a soul, or a stomach either. He’s simply got the instinct for being unhappy highly developed.