There Is No Apocalypse.

Travel At Its Truest Is Thus An Ironic Experience, And The Best Travellers . . . Seem To Be Those Able To Hold Two Or Three Inconsistent Ideas In Their Minds At The Same Time, Or Able To Regard Themselves As At Once Serious Persons And Clowns.

The Worst Thing About War Was The Sitting Around And Wondering What You Were Doing Morally.

The Simple Is Carefully Shunned By Those Who Labour To Seem What They Would Be.

Travel Sharpens The Senses. Abroad One Feels, Sees And Hears Things In An Abnormal Way.

Chickenshit Can Be Recognized Instantly Because It Never Has Anything To Do With Winning The War.