Natalie Spenser was giving a dinner. She was not an easy hostess.

there comes a time when ambition ceases to burn, or romance to stir, and the highest cry of the human heart is for peace.

War is not two great armies meeting in the clash and frenzy of battle. War is a boy being carried on a stretcher, looking up at God’s blue sky with bewildered eyes that are soon to close; war is a woman carrying a child that has been injured by a shell; war is spirited horses tied in burning buildings and waiting for death; war is the flower of a race, battered, hungry, bleeding, up to its knees in filthy water; war is an old woman burning a candle before the Mater Dolorsa for the son she has given.

Love is like the measles, all the worse when it comes late.

These are times of action. Men think and then act; sometimes, indeed, they simply act.

Some day some one will write a book about that frantic search of the creative worker for silence and freedom, not only from interruption but from the fear of interruption.

What a tragedy it was that the only thing age could offer to youth was its own experience, and that the experiences of others were never profitable.