Mr. Henry James writes fiction as if it were a painful duty.

Love! What is love? It's nothing. It's just a word. It doesn't exist. Only pleasure is important.

Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.

When the gods wish to punish us they answer our prayers.

And what sort of lives do these people, who pose as being moral, lead themselves? My dear fellow, you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite.

Fathers should be neither seen nor heard. That is the only proper basis for family life.

If one tells the truth, one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out.