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

In politics, it seems, retreat is honorable if dictated by military considerations and shameful if even suggested for ethical reasons.

Sex annihilates identity, and the space given to sex in contemporary novels is an avowal of the absence of character.

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

Scratch a socialist and you find a snob.

Our language, once homely and colloquial, seeks to aggrandize our meanest activities with polysyllabic terms or it retreats from frankness into a stammering verbosity.

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