When everyone is somebody then no one's anybody.
I'm really very sorry for you all, but it's an unjust world, and virtue is triumphant only in theatrical performances.
As is gloriously sung in the Gilbert and Sullivan operetta "H.M.S. Pinafore," in the words of W. S. Gilbert: "Things are seldom as they seem, Skim milk masquerades as cream."
He did nothing in particular, and did it very well.
Deerstalking would be a very fine sport if only the deer had guns.
Merely corroborative detail, intended to give artistic verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative.
The idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone, All centuries but this, and every country but his own.
Isn't your life extremely flat,With nothing to grumble at?
Life's a pudding full of plums.
It's love that makes the world go round.
Roll on, thou ball, roll on!
Through pathless realms of Space
The privilege and pleasure That we treasure beyond measure Is to run on little errands for the Ministers of State.
No one can have a higher opinion of him than I have; and I think he's a dirty little beast.
He must study the knack
If he wants to make sure of his Jill!
I am, in point of fact, a particularly haughty and exclusive person, of pre-Adamite ancestral descent. You will understand this when I tell you that I can trace my ancestry back to a protoplasmal primordial atomic globule.
Life is a joke that's just begun.
Man is nature's sole mistake.
Things are seldom what they seem.
A policeman's lot is not a happy one
Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashion must excite your
An attachment a la Plato for a bashful young potato, or a
not-too-French French bean!
Oh, wouldn't the world seem dull and flat with nothing whatever to grumble at?
I always voted at my party's call, and I never thought of thinking for myself at all.
So I fell in love with a rich attorney's
Elderly ugly daughter.
It's true I've got no shirts to wear;
It's true my butcher's bill is due;
It's true my prospects all look blue--
But don't let that unsettle you
Love, unrequited, robs me of my rest:
Love, hopeless love, my ardent soul encumbers:
Love, nightmare-like, lies heavy on my chest,
And weaves itself into my midnight slumbers!
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