And if these be unprincipled agents who scruple at nothing, he will be a bold man who will deny that there are always to be found men at the bar who lend their services most cordially to back and support these agents in their most desperate cases.
How strange a thing like that happens to a man. He dabbles in something and does not realise that it is his life.
All sympathy not consistent with acknowledged virtue is but disguised selfishness.
Good and bad men are less than they seem.
A man’s as old as he’s feeling. A woman as old as she looks.
I have seen great intolerance shown in support of tolerance.
You don’t have people chanting ‘Death to America’ in Israel.
Malice is only another name for mediocrity.
When I arrived to study at Oxford in October 1963, the bohemian style was black plastic or leather jackets for women and black leather or navy donkey jackets for men. I stuck to cavalry twills and a duffle coat, at least for a few months.
There is nothing as dead and as damned as an important thing. The things that really matter are casual, insignificant little things.