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What's the use of a great city having temptations if fellows don't yield to them?

You would not enjoy Nietzsche, sir. He is fundamentally unsound.

There is only one cure for grey hair. It was invented by a Frenchman. It is called the guillotine.

I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled.

Red hair, sir, in my opinion, is dangerous.

A melancholy-looking man, he had the appearance of one who has searched for the leak in life's gas-pipe with a lighted candle.

Unseen in the background, Fate was quietly slipping lead into the boxing-glove.

Marriage is not a process for prolonging the life of love, sir. It merely mummifies its corpse.

He had the look of one who had drunk the cup of life and found a dead beetle at the bottom.

I'm not absolutely certain of the facts, but I rather fancy it's Shakespeare who says that it's always just when a fellow is feeling particularly braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with the bit of lead piping.

In a series of events, all of which had been a bit thick, this, in his opinion, achieved the maximum of thickness.

The voice of Love seemed to call to me, but it was a wrong number.