In Bengal, to move at all

I have noticed . . . a certain tendency . . . to class me with the generation that was “ineradicably scarred by the war.” . . . I was not in the least scarred by the war. . . . The reasons for my warped disenchantment with life must be sought elsewhere.

[ To T. E. Lawrence when the latter was a corporal in the Royal Air Force :] Dear 338171 (May I call you 338?).

Englishmen detest a siesta.

But I believe that since my life began

I’ll see you again,

I have never been able to take anything seriously after eleven o’clock in the morning.

Why do the wrong people travel, travel, travel,AVhen the right people stay back home?

Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs. Worthington,/Don’t put your daughter on the stage,/The profession is overcrowded/ And the struggle’s pretty tough/ And admitting t he fact/She’s burning to act,/That isn’t quite enough.

At twelve noon/The natives swoon/ And no further work is done/ But mad dogs and Englishmen/Go out in the midday sun.