“Summer — summer — summer! The soundless footsteps on the grass!”

Slang is vigorous and apt. Probably most of our vital words were once slang.

When Man evolved Pity, he did a queer thing – deprived himself of the power of living life as it is without wishing it to become something different.

Dawn has power to fertilise the most matter-of-fact vision.

Such was not quite the condition of Timothy’s on the Bayswater Road, for Timothy’s soul still had one foot in Timothy Forsyte’s body, and Smither kept the atmosphere unchanging, of camphor and port wine and house whose windows are only opened to air it twice a day.

It isn’t enough to love people because they’re good to you, or because in some way or other you’re going to get something by it.

Honesty of thought and speech and written word is a jewel.

There is one rule for politicians all over the world: Don’t say in Power what you say in opposition; if you do, you only have to carry out what the other fellows have found impossible.

Only out of stir and change is born new salvation. To deny that is to deny belief in man, to turn our backs on courage!

The talked-about is always the last to hear the talk . . .

Justice is a machine that, when some one has once given it the starting push, rolls on of itself.

Love is not a hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind.

Love of beauty is really only the sex instinct, which nothing but complete union satisfies.

Religion was nearly dead because there was no longer real belief in future life; but something was struggling to take its place – service – social service – the ants creed, the bees creed.

Love has no age, no limit; and no death.

First one, then the other, getting the upper hand, and too seldom fusing till the result has the mellowness of full achievement.

We have to love because we love loving.