The woman had a humble, cringing manner. Of course, she had discovered that, having neither money nor virtue, she had better be humble if she knew what was good for her.

I am the only real truth I know.

Love was a terrible thing. You poisoned it and stabbed at it and knocked it down into the mud - well down - and it got up and staggered on, bleeding and muddy and awful. Like - like Rasputin.

I've been so ridiculous all my life that a little bit more or a little bit less hardly matters now.

What you take to be hyprocrisy is sometimes a certain caution, sometimes genuine, though ponderous, childish, sometimes a mixture of both.

She haunted him, as an ungenerous action haunts one.

And what does anyone know about traitors, or why Judas did what he did?