It Is Always Difficult To Escape From

When The Habitually Even-tempered Suddenly Fly Into A Passion, That Explosion Is Apt To Be More Impressive Than The Outburst Of The Most Violent Amongst Us.

I Believe That An Author Who Cannot Control Her Characters Is, Like A Mother Who Cannot Control Her Children, Not Really Fit To Look After Them.

People Don't Alter. They May With Enormous Difficulty Modify Themselves, But They Never Really Change.

Infatuation Is One Of Those Slightly Comic Illnesses Which Are At Once So Undignified And So Painful That A Nice-minded World Does Its Best To Ignore Their Existence Altogether, Referring To Them Only Under Provocation And Then With Apology, But, Like Its More Material Brother, This Boil On The Neck Of The Spirit Can Hardly Be Forgotten Either By The Sufferer Or Anyone Else In His Vicinity. The Malady Is Ludicrous, Sad, Excruciating And, Above All, Instantly Diagnosable.

Self-satisfaction Is The State Of Mind Of Those Who Have The Happy Conviction That They Are Not As Other Men.