The one charm of the past is that it is the past.

Pleasure is the only thing one should live for, nothing ages like happiness.

Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about.

Every woman becomes their mother. That's their tragedy. And no man becomes his. That's his tragedy.

London is full of women who trust their husbands. One can always recognize them. They look so thoroughly unhappy.

Yet, even for us, there is left some loveliness of environment, and the dullness of tutors and professors matters very little when one can loiter in the grey cloisters at Magdalen, and listen to some flute-like voice singing in Waynfleete's chapel, or lie in the green meadow, among the strange snakespotted fritillaries, and watch the sunburnt noon smite to a finer gold the tower's gilded vanes, or wander up the Christ Church staircase beneath the vaulted ceiling's shadowy fans, or pass through the sculptured gateway of Laud's building in the College of St. John.

The emotions of man are stirred more quickly than man’s intelligence.