Life Is Very Nice, But It Lacks

When You Are Forty, Half Of You Belongs To The Past... And When You Are Seventy, Nearly All Of You.

Tragedy Is Restful: And The Reason Is That Hope, That Foul, Deceitful Thing, Has No Part In It.

However Tight I Shut My Eyes, There Will Always Be A Stray Dog Somewhere In The World Who'll Stop Me Being Happy.

Talent Is Like A Faucet, While It Is Open, One Must Write.

My Wife Was An Opera Singer, You Know. She Bellowed Her Way Through Wagner As A Valkyrie. I Married Her And Made Her Give Up The Theatre, To My Eternal Cost. She Was To Go On Acting For Myself Alone. A Performance At His Own Expense, Lasting For More Than Twenty Years, Tends To Wear Out Your Spectator.