While Thoughts Exist, Words Are Alive And

M Is For Marx And Clashing Of Classes And Movement Of Masses And Massing Of Asses.

There Is No Fury Like An Ex-wife Searching For A New Lover.

He [george Orwell] Would Not Blow His Nose Without Moralising On Conditions In The Handkerchief Industry.

There Are Many Who Dare Not Kill Themselves For Fear Of What The Neighbours Will Say.

A Writer Is In Danger Of Allowing His Talent To Dull Who Lets More Than A Year Go Past Without Finding Himself In His Rightful Place Of Composition, The Small Single Unluxurious Retreat Of The Twentieth Century, The Hotel Bedroom.