... To Mention Honor Was To Suggest

You're Thinking That People Don't Keep Up Old Jealousies For Twenty Years Or So. Perhaps Not. Not Just Primitive, Brute Jealousy. That Means A Word And A Blow. But The Thing That Rankles Is Hurt Vanity. That Sticks. Humiliation. And We've All Got A Sore Spot We Don't Like To Have Touched.

A Person Who Tells A Secret, Swearing The Recipient To Secrecy In Turn, Is Asking Of The Other Person A Discretion Which He Is Abrogating Himself.

A Marriage Of Two Independent And Equally Irritable Intelligences Seems To Me Reckless To The Point Of Insanity.

I Think The Most Joyous Thing In Life Is To Loaf Around And Watch Another Bloke Do A Job Of Work. Look How Popular Are The Men Who Dig Up London With Electric Drills. Duke's Son, Cook's Son, Son Of A Hundred Kings, People Will Stand There For Hours On End, Ear Drums Splitting. Why? Simply For The Pleasure Of Being Idle While Watching Other People Work.

Work Is Not Primarily A Thing One Does To Live But The Thing One Lives To Do. It Is, Or It Should Be, The Full Expression Of The Worker's Faculties, The Thing In Which He Finds Spiritual, Mental And Bodily Satisfaction, And The Medium In Which He Offers Himself To God.