I want a horse and plough, Chickens too, Just one cow, With a wistful moo.
How was your flight? Well, aeronautically it was a great success. Socially, it left quite a bit to be desired.
Squash – that’s not exercise, it’s flagellation.
Sunburn is very becoming – but only when it is even – one must be careful not to look like a mixed grill.
Everybody worships me, it’s nauseating.
Comedies of manners swiftly become obsolete when there are no longer any manners.
Work hard, do the best you can, don’t ever lose faith in yourself and take no notice of what other people say about you.
The pleasures that once were heaven look silly at sixty-seven.
You always ought to have tom cats arranged, you know – it makes ’em more companionable.
Bed is the perfect climate.
It’s no good pacing up and down. It won’t make the plane arrive any faster. Just sit down and accept that we’re delayed. You’re just making a fool of yourself.
It’s never too early for a cocktail.
How foolish to think that one can ever slam the door in the face of age. Much wiser to be polite and gracious and ask him to lunch in advance.
To take a gloomy view of life is not part of my philosophy; to laugh at the idiocies of my fellow creatures is. However, at this particular moment I cannot find so much to laugh at as I would like.
I don’t think pornography is harmful, but it is terribly, terribly boring.
I write at high speed because boredom is bad for my health.
As one gets older, one discovers everything is going to be exactly the same with different hats on.
You will know you’re old when you cease to be amazed.
How about slipping out of those wet things and into a dry Martini?
Fifty-four years of love and tenderness and crossness and devotion and unswerving loyalty. Without her I could have achieved a quarter of what I have achieved, not only in terms of success and career, but in terms of personal happiness.