Americans relate all effort, all work, and all of life itself to the dollar. Their talk is of nothing but dollars.
When the loo paper gets thicker and the writing paper thinner, it’s always a bad sign, at home.
In France that is the one rule, never make trouble.
And Left-wing people are always sad because they mind dreadfully about their causes, and the causes are always going so badly.
I Love children, especially when they cry for then someone takes them away.
You’ve no idea how long life goes on and how many, many changes it brings. Young people seem to imagine that it’s over in a flash, that they do this thing, or that thing, and then die, but I can assure you they are quite wrong.
Chickens are cheerless birds, I advise you to keep geese which can be taught to follow like dogs, one needs all the companionship one can get in these days.
I have only ever read one book in my life, and that is White Fang. It’s so frightfully good I’ve never bothered to read another.
Surely a King who loves pleasure is less dangerous than one who loves glory?
Greece is not a country of happy mediums: everything there seems to be either wonderful or horrible...
Children should be like waffles – you should be able to throw the first one away.
Love indeed – whoever invented love ought to be shot.
I have often noticed that when women look at themselves in every reflection, and take furtive peeps into their looking-glasses, it is hardly ever, as is generally supposed, from vanity, but much more often from a feeling that all is not quite as it should be.
Men, in general, are so treacherous, so envious, and so cruel that it is a comfort to find one who is only weak.
As far as I am concerned, all reading is for pleasure.
Oh my past! It’s such a long time ago now.
Talk about what you know and you won’t get so angry.
Nobody ought to write books before they’re thirty. I hate precocity.
Frenchwomen always give one to understand that arranging themselves is full-time work.
The people welcome a new da yas if they were certain of liking it, the shopkeepers pull up their blinds serene in the expectation of good trade, the workers go happily to their work, the people who have sat up all night in night clubs go happily to their rest, the orchestra of motor-car horns, of clanking trams, of whistling policemen tunes up for the daily symphony, and everywhere is joy.