The young always have the same problem – how to rebel and conform at the same time. They have now solved this by defying their parents and copying one another.
QUENTIN CRISPThe young always have the same problem – how to rebel and conform at the same time. They have now solved this by defying their parents and copying one another.
QUENTIN CRISPManners are a way of getting what you want without appearing to be an absolute swine.
QUENTIN CRISPLife was a funny thing that happened to me on the way to the grave.
QUENTIN CRISPNothing shortens a journey so pleasantly as an account of misfortunes at which the hearer is permitted to laugh.
QUENTIN CRISPThe trouble with children is that they’re not returnable.
QUENTIN CRISPEuphemisms are unpleasant truths wearing diplomatic cologne.
QUENTIN CRISPIf I have any talent at all, it is not for doing but for being.
QUENTIN CRISPIf at first you don’t succeed, failure may be your style.
QUENTIN CRISPIf love means anything at all it means extending your hand to the unlovable.
QUENTIN CRISPThere is no need to do any housework at all. After the first four years the dirt doesn’t get any worse.
QUENTIN CRISPOf course I lie to people. But I lie altruistically – for our mutual good. The lie is the basic building block of good manners. That may seem mildly shocking to a moralist – but then what isn’t?
QUENTIN CRISPThe trouble with European cities is that they are drenched in their history, almost all of which is terrible.
QUENTIN CRISPFashion is a way of not having to decide who you are. Style is deciding who you are and being able to perpetuate it.
QUENTIN CRISPHappiness is the only thing I understand.
QUENTIN CRISPIf a man were to look over the fence on one side of his garden and observe that the neighbor on his left had laid his garden path round a central lawn; and were to look over the fence on the other side of his garden and observe that the neighbor on his right had laid his path down the middle of the lawn.
QUENTIN CRISPAsk yourself, if there was to be no blame, and if there was to be no praise, who would I be then?
QUENTIN CRISP