I have been told I am overweight, which is odd coming from the age of men who mistake thinness for thought. by G. K. Chesterton

Chesterton, if your arguments were as trim as your waistline, the century would be less embarrassing.

Shaw, your wit is like your plays: overlong, underfed, and convinced the mirror is a critic.

Both of you write like you lost a duel with a thesaurus and are blaming civilization.

At least I know where I am: between a prophet and a playwright, both of them lost in the margin.

Wells, you write futures like a man describing a machine he has never actually turned on.