In A Perfect Union The

Nothing Dates Like Hate And In Literature A Little Of It Goes A Very Long Way.

English Law: Where There Are Two Alternatives: One Intelligent, One Stupid; One Attractive, One Vulgar; One Noble, One Ape-like; One Serious And Sincere, One Undignified And False; One Far-sighted, One Short; Everybody Will Invariably Choose The Latter.

A Writer Is In Danger Of Allowing His Talent To Dull Who Lets More Than A Year Go Past Without Finding Himself In His Rightful Place Of Composition, The Small Single Unluxurious Retreat Of The Twentieth Century, The Hotel Bedroom.

The Dread Of Loneliness Is Greater Than The Fear Of Bondage, So We Get Married.

The English Masses Are Lovable: They Are Kind, Decent, Tolerant, Practical And Not Stupid. The Tragedy Is That They Are Too Many Of Them, And That They Are Aimless, Having Outgrown The Servile Functions For Which They Were Encouraged To Multiply. One Day These Huge Crowds Will Have To Seize Power Because There Will Be Nothing Else For Them To Do, And Yet They Neither Demand Power Nor Are Ready To Make Use Of It; They Will Learn Only To Be Bored In A New Way.