I Was A Modest, Good-humoured

It Is A Fact That Not Once In All My Life Have I Gone Out For A Walk. I Have Been Taken Out For Walks; But That Is Another Matter.

Every Kind Of Writing Is Hypocritical.

Beauty And The Lust For Learning Have Yet To Be Allied.

Few, As I Have Said, Are The Humorists Who Can Induce This State. To Master And Dissolve Us, To Give Us The Joy Of Being Worn Down And Tired Out With Laughter, Is A Success To Be Won By No Man Save In Virtue Of A Rare Staying-power. Laughter Becomes Extreme Only If It Be Consecutive. There Must Be No Pauses For Recovery. Touch-and-go Humour, However Happy, Is Not Enough. The Jester Must Be Able To Grapple His Theme And Hang On To It, Twisting It This Way And That, And Making It Yield Magically All Manner Of Strange And Precious Things.

It Distresses Me, This Failure To Keep Pace With The Leaders Of Thought, As They Pass Into Oblivion.