Murder Must Advertise (Lord Peter Wimsey, #10)

by Dorothy L. Sayers

But, I say, I wouldn’t go asking Copley or Willis for too much assistance if I were you. They weren’t brought up to the idea of lending round their lecture notes. They’ve a sort of board-school idea that everybody ought to paddle his own canoe.”

The high spirits induced by gin and cheerful company do not easily survive siege by darkness and solitude.

“Well, what are you doing it for, anyway?” “To please myself—which is the only reason you would admit for doing anything.”

“I hate you,” said Dian. “Then you are on the high road to loving me—which is only natural. We needs must love the highest when we see it.

He was a large, saturnine man, blank as to morals but comparatively sober in his habits, as people must be who make money out of other people’s vices.

Everybody suspects an eager desire to curry favour, but rudeness, for some reason, is always accepted as a guarantee of good faith.

They had merely discovered that comfortable and well-fed people are constitutionally disinclined for united action of any sort—a fact which explains the asinine meekness of the income-tax payer.