All reformers, however strict their social conscience, live in houses just as big as they can pay for.

I might give my life for my friend, but he had better not ask me to do up a parcel.

I can't forgive my friends for dying; I don't find these vanishing acts of theirs at all amusing.

We grow with years more fragile in body, but morally stutter, and can throw off the chill of a bad conscience almost at once.

There are people who, like houses, are beautiful in dilapidation.

Style is a magic wand, and turns everything to gold that it touches.

There are people whose society I find delicious; but when I sit alone and think of them I shudder.