|
| People ask for criticism, but they only want praise. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| The ability to quote is a serviceable substitute for wit. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| Death is a very dull, dreary affair, and my advice to you is to have nothing whatsoever to do with it. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| An unfortunate thing about this world is that the good habits are much easier to give up than the bad ones. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| Excess on occasion is exhilarating. It prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of a habit. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| It was such a lovely day I thought it a pity to get up. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| She had a pretty gift for quotation, which is a serviceable substitute for wit. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| Tradition is a guide and not a jailer. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| When you have loved as she has loved, you grow old beautifully. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| Love is a dirty trick played on us to achieve the continuation of the species. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| We have long passed the Victorian era, when asterisks were followed after a certain interval by a baby. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| Dying is a very dull, dreary affair. And my advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| American women expect to find in their husbands a perfection that English women only hope to find in their butlers. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| It was such a lovely day I thought it a pity to get up. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| The ability to quote is a serviceable substitute for wit. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| At a dinner party one should eat wisely but not too well, and talk well but not too wisely. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| Excess on occasion is exhilarating. It prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of a habit. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| We do not write because we want to; we write because we have to. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| There are three rules for writing the novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
| I have an idea that some men are born out of their due place. Accident has cast them amid certain surroundings, but they have always a nostalgia for a home they know not. They are strangers at their birthplace, and the leafy lanes they have known from childhood or the populous streets in which they have played, remain but a place of passage. They may spend their whole lives aliens among their kindred and remain aloof among the only scenes they have ever knows. Perhaps it is this sense of strangeness that sends men far and wide in the search for something permanent, to which they may attach themselves. Perhaps some deep-rooted atavism urges the wanderer back to lands which his ancestors left in the dim beginnings of history. Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs. Here is the home he sought, and he will settle amid scenes that he has never seen before, among men he has never known, as though they were familiar to him from his birth. Here at last he finds rest. |
(W. Somerset Maugham)
|
