If there really is such a thing as turning in one's grave, Shakespeare must get a lot of exercise.

The paperweight was the room he was in, and the coral was Julia's life and his own, fixed in a sort of eternity at the heart of the crystal.

There is a humility about genuine love that is rather horrible in some ways.

Processions, meetings, military parades, lectures, waxwork displays, film shows, telescreen programs all had to be organized; stands had to be erected, effigies built, slogans coined, songs written, rumours circulated, photographs faked.

Windmill or no windmill, he said, life would go on as it had always gone on--that is, badly.

International sport is war without shooting.