"Well, well, my dear fellow, we must all dine, whatever our opinions."
"Oh, yes; we must dine, while the world starves."
"The bow can't be always stretched," said Philip, with a slight smile.
"You don't think, Hume, do you, that he's getting any less—less in earnest, you know?"
"Oh, he wrote a scorcher this very morning."
"Did he? That's good news. Where is it to appear?"
"I don't know. He didn't write it on commission."
"His poems have such magnificent restlessness, haven't they? I can't bear to see him idle."
"Poor Dale! You must give him some holidays. He likes pleasure like the rest of us."