Great Socialist statesmen aren't made, they're still-born.

He is one of those people who would be enormously improved by death.

If he had unlimited money at his disposal, he might go into the wilds somewhere and shoot big game. I never know what the big game have done to deserve it, but they do help to deflect the destructive energies of some of our social misfits.

To be clever in the afternoon argues that one is dining nowhere in the evening.

Sophie Chattel-Monkheim was a Socialist by conviction and a Chattel-Monkheim by marriage.

He seems the incarnation of everything soft and silky and velvety, without a sharp edge in his composition, a dreamer whose philosophy is sleep and let sleep.

There was something alike terrifying and piteous in the spectacle of these frail old morsels of humanity consecrating their last flickering energies to the task of making each other wretched. Hatred seemed to be the one faculty which had survived in undiminished vigor where all else was dropping into ordered and symmetrical decay.