The chief glory of a woman is not to be talked of, said Pericles, himself a much-talked-of-man.

I find that when I've seen a certain number of people my mind becomes like an old match box -- the part one strikes on, I mean.

Oh, I am in love with life!

There was no treachery too base for the world to commit.

Thus Mr. Lawrence, Mr. Douglas and Mr. Joyce partly spoil their books for women readers by their display of self-conscious virility; and Mr. Hemingway, but much less violently, follows suit.

All looked distant and peaceful and strange. The shore seemed refined, far away, unreal. Already the little distance they had sailed had put them far from it and given it the changed look, the composed look, of something receding in which one has no longer any part.

Inevitably we look upon society, so kind to you, so harsh to us, as an ill-fitting form that distorts the truth; deforms the mind; fetters the will.