“A corner of his mouth quirked up. “I play pool. Shoot hoops sometimes too. Any other sport you’re curious about?” “Hockey? Polo?” “Simultaneously. Trick is to keep the horses on their skates.”

“A smile played around the corners of his mouth. He looked up at me. "Bad dog.”

“The English play hockey in any weather. Thunder, lightening, plague of locusts...nothing can stop the hockey. Do not fight the hockey, for the hockey will win.”

“I plan to keep you, from every­one, for as long as I’m alive. That includes Puck, the false king, and any one else who would take you away.” One corner of his mouth quirked, as I struggled to catch my breath under his powerful scrutiny. “I guess I should’ve warned you that I have a slight possessive streak.”

“His excuse made the corners of my mouth turn up. “You think I’m beautiful?”He frowned with disgust. “You’re gorgeous and you know it. What are you smiling about?”

“Serious sport has nothing to do with fair play. It is bound up with hatred, jealousy, boastfulness, disregard of all rules and sadistic pleasure in witnessing violence. In other words, it is war minus the shooting. (in "The Sporting Spirit", Tribune, GB, London, December 1945)”