What you really are is a Bunburyist. I was quite right in saying you were a Bunburyist. You are one of the most advanced Bunburyists I know.
What you have told me is quite a romance, a romance of art one might call it, and the worst of having a romance of any kind is that it leaves one so unromantic.
When I think of all the harm [the Bible] has done, I despair of ever writing anything to equal it.
When good Americans die, they go to Paris.
When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.
When I am in trouble, eating is the only thing that consoles me.
When poverty creeps in at the door, love flies through the window.
What would you say, Harry, if I told you that I had murdered Basil?" said the younger man. He watched him intently after he had spoken.