When those of our army whose voices are likely to coo tell us that the day of sex antagonism is over and that henceforth we only have to advance hand in hand with the male, I do not believe it.

Man is a hating rather than a loving animal.

I wonder if we are all wrong about each other, if we are just composing unwritten novels about the people we meet?

The happy marriage, which is the only proper nursery, is indissoluble. The unhappy marriage, which perpetually tells the child a bogey-man story about life, ought to be dissolved.

All disgrace smells alike. Differences in ruin are only matters of degree.

Embraces do not matter; they merely indicate the will to love and may as well be followed by defeat as victory. But disregard means that now there needs to be no straining of the eyes, no stretching forth of the hands, no pressing of the lips, because theirs is such a union that they are no longer aware of the division of their flesh.

There is, of course, no reason for the existence of the male sex except that one sometimes needs help with moving the piano.