I Suppose It Is Because Nearly All

I Looked At Her. Sheila Was My Girl--the Girl I Wanted--and Wanted For Keeps. But It Wasn't Any Use Having Illusions About Her. Sheila Was A Liar And Probably Always Would Be A Liar. It Was Her Way Of Fighting For Survival--the Quick Easy Glib Denial. It Was A Child's Weapon--and She'd Probably Never Got Out Of Using It. If I Wanted Sheila, I Must Accept Her As She Was--be At Hand To Prop Up The Weak Places. We've All Got Our Weak Places. Mine Were Different From Sheila's, But They Were There.

I've A Theory That One Can Always Get Anything One Wants If One Will Pay The Price. And Do You Know What The Price Is, Nine Times Out Of Ten? Compromise.

Where Do One's Fears Come From? Where Do They Shape Themselves? Where Do They Hide Before Coming Out Into The Open?

You Agree - I'm Sure You Agree That Beauty Is The Only Thing Worth Living For.

He Was Very Much A Man Of Moods, Possibly Owing To What Is Styled The Artistic Temperment. I Have Never Seen, Myself, Why The Possession Of Artistic Ability Should Be Supposed To Excuse A Man From A Decent Exercise Of Self-control.