“Odd’s fish, m’dear! The man can’t even tie his own cravat!”

…but in every century, and ever since England has been what it is, an Englishman has always felt somewhat ashamed of his own emotion and of his own sympathy.

The weariest night, the longest day, sooner or later must perforce come to an end.

She, too, had worn a mask in assuming a contempt for him, whilst, as a matter of fact, she completely misunderstood him

Even the worst moments and the weariest journeys must come to an end.

Sink me! Your taylors have betrayed you! T’wood serve you better to send THEM to Madam Guillotine

She said nothing, and Sir Andrew, too, was silent, yet those two young people understood one another, as young people have a way of doing all the world over, and have done since the world began.

To love, for us men, is to clasp one woman with our arms, feeling that she lives and breathes just as we do, suffers as we do, thinks with us, loves with us, and, above all, sins with us.

We must prove to the world that we are all nincompoops

Money and titles may be hereditary,” she would say, “but brains are not,”.

Virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when it is crushed.

In the chain of my life, there were so many links, all of which tended towards bringing me to the fulfillment of my destiny.

When they are gay, the waves echo their gaiety; but when they are sad, then every breaker, as it rolls, seems to bring additional sadness, and to speak to us of hopelessness and of the pettiness of all our joys.

Look at this limp cravet. And the sad state of those cuffs. I can hardly bring myself to look upon them.

music is the most absorbing of all the arts. It absorbs the mind of the artist, whether creator or executant, to the exclusion of every other consideration outside his own immediate necessities or desires.

There is such wonderful balm in self-imposed sacrifice.

Your mock saint who stands in a niche is not a woman if she have not suffered, still less a woman if she have not sinned. Fall at the feet of your idol as you wish, but drag her down to your level after that — the only level she should ever reach, that of your heart.

This seems quite good, a bit familiar.’ Then I realise … It’s one of my movies. It’s a pretty odd feeling.

I’m Scottish first, and it’s odd to hear that I’m a Scottish-American.

But in truth, life turns out to be more like the patchwork cloths-bits and pieces, odds and ends-people, places, things we never expected, never wanted, perhaps.

But I think it’s a good thing. Some people thought that it was an odd career arc, but to me it made absolute sense.

I have an odd fetish with nails.

The odds and ends of your mental surplus you carelessly throw at the world, one wants to be at a loss, in a maze; amazed, and amazingly unabashed.

When you’re picking a basketball team, you’ll take the brother over the guy with the yarmulke. Why? Because you’re playing the odds.

The loneliness of the expatriate is of an odd and complicated kind, for it is inseparable from the feeling of being free, of having escaped.