“Puddings, my dear sir?' cried Graham.Puddings. We trice 'em athwart the starboard gumbrils, when sailing by and large.”

“God damn you to hell, Sir, no, it's indecent, there are limits! In six days, do you hear me, six days, God made the world. Yes Sir, no less Sir, the WORLD! And you are not bloody well capable of making me a pair of trousers in three months!''But my dear Sir, my dear Sir, look at the world and look at my TROUSERS!”

“We live in a crowded and stifling world, my dear sir; just to be able to walk, we have to push and shove others willy nilly!”

“Dear sirs, The cold war isn’t over. When national borders fail, the epidermis is the last line of defense. We are counting on you.Sincerely,Patriot”

“You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog as large as myself.”

“Mr Mowett,' called Stephen in the pause while the table was clearing to make room for the pudding, and pudding-wine—in this case Frontignan and Canary—was handing about, 'you were telling me about your publishers.'    'Yes, sir: I was about to say that they were the most hellish procrastinators—'    'Oh how dreadful,' cried Fanny. 'Do they go to—to special houses, or do they ...'    'He means they delay,' said Babbington.    'Oh.”