It is the bungled crime that brings remorse.

I spent the afternoon musing on Life. If you come to think of it, what a queer thing Life is! So unlike anything else, don't you know, if you see what I mean.

Why do dachshunds wear their ears inside out?

No one so dislikes being punished unjustly as the person who might have been punished justly on scores of previous occasions, if he had only been found out.

Providence looks after all the chumps of this world, and personally, I'm all for it.

The ideas of debtor and creditor as to what constitutes a good time never coincide.

She looked like something that might have occured to Ibsen in one of his less frivolous moments.

It was my Uncle George who discovered alcohol was a food well in advance of modern medical thought.

Woman is the unfathomable, incalculable mystery, the problem that we men can never hope to solve.

When you're alone you don't do much laughing.

He was a Frenchman, a melancholy-looking man. His aspect was that of one who has been looking for the leak in a gas pipe with a lighted candle.

Well, you certainly are the most wonderfully woolly baa-lamb that ever stepped.

It has been well said that an author who expects results from a first novel is in a position similar to that of a man who drops a rose petal down the Grand Canyon of Arizona and listens for the echo.

I suppose he must have taken about a nine or something in hats. Shows what a rotten thing it is to let your brain develop too much.

When you have been just told that the girl you love is definitely betrothed to another, you begin to understand how Anarchists must feel when the bomb goes off too soon.

Say what you will, there is something fine about our old aristocracy. I'll bet Trotsky couldn't hit a moving secretary with an egg on a dark night.

Her pupils were at once her salvation and her despair. They gave her the means of supporting life, but they made life hardly worth supporting.

The least thing upset him on the links. He missed short putts because of the uproar of the butterflies in the adjoining meadows.

There was a sound in the background like a distant sheep coughing gently on a mountainside. Jeeves sailing into action.

This is peculiarly an age in which each of us may, if he do but search diligently, find the literature suited to his mental powers.

A girl who bonnets a policeman with an ashcan full of bottles is obviously good wife-and-mother timber.

She's a sort of human vampire-bat

What a queer thing Life is! So unlike anything else, don't you know, if you see what I mean.

It isn't often that Aunt Dahlia lets her angry passions rise, but when she does, strong men climb trees and pull them up after them.

As a dancer, I out-Fred the nimblest Astaire.

Well, there it is. That's Jeeves. Where others merely smite the brow and clutch the hair, he acts. Napoleon was the same.

Every author really wants to have letters printed in the paper. Unable to make the grade, he drops down a rung of the ladder and writes novels.

One prefers, of course, on all occasions to be stainless and above reproach, but, failing that, the next best thing is unquestionably to have got rid of the body.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.

I want To do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

As if you were on fire from within. The moon lives in the lining of your skin.

So I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.

You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.

But I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Let us forget with generosity those who cannot love us

Laughter is the language of the soul.

You are like nobody since I love you.

To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.

In this part of the story I am the one who dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, because I love you, Love, in fire and in blood.

Only do not forget, if I wake up crying it's only because in my dream I'm a lost child hunting through the leaves of the night for your hands....

My feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping but I shall go on living.

And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.

Then love knew it was called love. And when I lifted my eyes to your name, suddenly your heart showed me my way

I am no longer in love with her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving.

It was at that age that poetry came in search of me.