It Had Come About Ex­act­ly

What I Feel Is That If One Has Got To Have A Murder Actually Happening In One's House, One Might As Well Enjoy It, If You Know What I Mean.

Women Can Accept The Fact That A Man Is A Rotter, A Swindler, A Drug Taker, A Confirmed Liar, And A General Swine, Without Batting An Eyelash, And Without Its Impairing Their Affection For The Brute In The Least. Women Are Wonderful Realists.

The Out-of-date Returns In Due Course As The Picturesque.

An Ugly Voice Repels Me Where An Ugly Face Would Not.

Many Friends Have Said To Me, 'i Never Know When You Write Your Books, Because I've Never Seen You Writing, Or Even Seen You Go Away To Write.' I Must Behave Rather As Dogs Do When They Retire With A Bone; They Depart In A Secretive Manner And You Do Not See Them Again For An Odd Half Hour. They Return Self-consciously With Mud On Their Noses. I Do Much The Same.