She felt a little betrayed and sad, but presently a moving object came into sight. It was a huge horse-chestnut tree in full bloom bound for the Champs Elysees, strapped now into a long truck and simply shaking with laughter - like a lovely person in an undignified position yet confident none the less of being lovely. Looking at it with fascination, Rosemary identified herself with it, and laughed cheerfully with it, and everything all at once seemed gorgeous.

What was the use of doing great things if I could have a better time telling her what I was going to do?

There is no confusion like the confusion of a simple mind.

I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.

Lie to me by the moonlight. Do a fabulous story.

I love her and that's the beginning and end of everything.

Once one is caught up into the material world not one person in ten thousand finds the time to form literary taste, to examine the validity of philosophic concepts for himself, or to form what, for lack of a better phrase, I might call the wise and tragic sense of life.