What had he ever wanted that he could not buy? And if that wasn’t riches he didn’t know what was.

He knew by heart every last minute crack on its surface. He had made maps of the ceiling and gone exploring on them; rivers, islands, and continents. He had made guessing games of it and...

The Sweat and the Furrow was Silas Weekley being earthly and spade-conscious all over seven hundred pages. The situation, to judge from the first paragraph, had not materially changed since Silas’s last book: mother lying-in...

Grant had dealt too long with the human intelligence to accept as truth someone’s report of someone’s report of what that someone remembered to have seen or been told.

Alan Grant: “There are… far too many words written. Millions and millions of them pouring from the presses every minute. It’s a horrible thought.” The Midget (his nurse): “You sound constipated.

One would expect boredom to be a great yawning emotion, but it isn’t, of course. It’s a small niggling thing.

She put her cup down and sighed again with pleasure. “I can’t think how the Nonconformists have failed to discover coffee.” “Discover it?””Yes. As a snare. It does far more for one than drink. And...