'Elementary, my dear Watson, elementary,' murmured Psmith. (No earlier usage of the precise words 'Elementary, my dear Watson' has yet been found, even in the works of Arthur Conan Doyle.)

Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been.'.(quoting John Greenleaf Whittier)

'Work, the what's-its-name of the thingummy and the thing-um-a-bob of the what d'you-call-it.'

It is a good rule in life never to apologize. The right sort of people do not want apologies, and the wrong sort take a mean advantage of them.

The 'Laforgue edition' (1826-1838), heavily rewritten and censored:

E o abade pancudo que a tardinha, a varanda, palita o dente furado saboreando o seu cafe com um ar paterno, traz dentro em si os indistintos restos dum Torquem…

At present, I am a poet trying to be a soldier. To tell the truth, I am not interested in writing nowadays, except in so far as writing is the expression of so…