For Most People, Life Is Nasty, Brutish,

A Man's Sorrow Runs Uphill; True It Is Difficult For Him To Bear, But It Is Also Difficult For Him To Keep.

After All, It Is Not Where One Washes One's Neck That Counts But Where One Moistens One's Throat.

The Night Is A Skin Pulled Over The Head Of Day That The Day May Be In Torment.

Well, Isn't Bohemia A Place Where Everyone Is As Good As Everyone Else - And Must Not A Waiter Be A Little Less Than A Waiter To Be A Good Bohemian?

Madness To Us Means Reversion; To Such People As Una And Lena It Meant Progression. Now Their Uncle Had Entered Into A Land Beyond Them, The Land Of Fancy. For Fifty Years He Had Been As They Were, Silent, Hard-working, Unimaginative. Then All Of A Sudden, Like A Scholar Passing His Degree, He Had Gone Up Into Another Form.