The Facts Of Life Are The Impossibilities

I Did Not Intend To Write A Funny Book, At First. I Did Not Know I Was A Humorist. I Have Never Been Sure About It. In The Middle Ages, I Should Probably Have Gone About Preaching And Got Myself Burnt Or Hanged.

I Could Not Conjure Up One Melancholy Fancy Upon A Mutton Chop And A Glass Of Champagne.

I Saw A Great Newfoundland Dog The Other Day Sitting In Front Of A Mirror At The Entrance To A Shop In Regent's Circus, And Examining Himself With An Amount Of Smug Satisfaction That I Have Never Seen Equaled Elsewhere Outside A Vestry Meeting.

It Always Does Seem To Me That I Am Doing More Work Than I Should Do. It Is Not That I Object To The Work, Mind You; I Like Work: It Fascinates Me. I Can Sit And Look At It For Hours.

Being Poor Is A Mere Trifle. It Is Being Known To Be Poor That Is The Sting.