Margot Asquith (1864 – 1945)
Scottish-born socialite and author, married to the British Prime Minister H H Asquith.
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Margo. The 'T' is silent as in Harlow.
From the happy expression on their faces you might have supposed that they welcomed the war. I have met with men who loved stamps, and stones, and snakes, but I could not imagine any man loving war.
My dear old friend King George V told me he would never have died but for that vile doctor, Lord Dawson of Penn.
Through the pages of [her book] Lay Sermons walk the great. I don't say that Margot Asquith actually permits us to rub elbows with them ourselves, but she willingly shows us her own elbow, which has been, so to say, honed on the mighty.
Lloyd George? There is no Lloyd George. There is a marvellous brain; but if you were to shut him in a room and look through the keyhole there would be nobody there.
He's very clever, but sometimes his brains go to his head.
She tells enough white lies to ice a wedding cake.
Kitchener, a great man or a great poster?
... no matter where she takes off from, she brings the discourse back to Margot Asquith. Such singleness of purpose is met but infrequently.
Rich men's houses are seldom beautiful, rarely comfortable, and never original. It is a constant source of surprise to people of moderate means to observe how little a big fortune contributes to Beauty.
The affair between Margot Asquith and Margot Asquith will live as one of the prettiest love stories in all literature.
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