The idea of Macbeth as a conscience-torm ented man is a platitude as false as Macbeth himself. Macbeth has no conscience. His main concern throughout the play is that most selfish of all concerns: to get a good night's sleep.

On the wall of our life together hung a gun waiting to be fired in the final act.

Whenever in history, equality appeared on the agenda, it was exported somewhere else, like an undesirable.

With extramarital courtship, the deception was prolonged where it had been ephemeral, necessary where it had been frivolous, conspiratorial where it had been lonely.

The famous Florentine elegance, which attracts tourists to the shops on Via Tornabuoni and Via della Vigna Nuova, is characterized by austerity of line, simplicity, economy of effect.

What's the use of falling in love if you both remain inertly as you were?

I am for the ones who represent sense, and so was Jane Austen.