I believe that in the last century men have developed the desire for work, and they must not starve it. It’s a new desire. It goes with a great deal that’s bad, but in itself it’s good, and I hope that for women, too, ‘not to work’ will soon become as shocking as ‘not to be married’ was a hundred years ago.
I would rather go up to heaven by myself than be pushed by cherubs:.
If Wilcoxes hadn’t worked and died in England for thousands of years, you and I couldn’t sit here without having our throats cut. There would be no trains, no ships to carry us literary people about in, no fields even. Just savagery. No – perhaps not even that. Without their spirit life might never have moved out of protoplasm. More and more do I refuse to draw my income and sneer at those who guarantee it.
But the lovers get away unpunished and consequently recommend crime.
Ronny approved of religion as long as it endorsed the National Anthem, but he objected when it attempted to influence his life.
And think how he has been brought up-, free from all the superstition and ignorance that lead men to hate one another in the name of God.
And in time’ – his voice rose – ’there will come a generation that had got beyond facts, beyond impressions, a generation absolutely colourless, a generation.
The female mind, though cruelly practical in daily life, cannot bear to hear ideals belittled in conversation, and Miss Schlegel was asked however she could say such dreadful things, and what it would profit Mr. Bast if he gained the whole world and lost his own soul. She answered, “Nothing, but he would not gain his soul until he had gained a little of the world.
The tide had begun to ebb. Margaret leant over the parapet and watched it sadly. Mr. Wilcox had forgotten his wife, Helen her lover; she herself was probably forgetting. Every one moving. Is it worth while attempting the past when there is this continual flux even in the hearts of men?
All the poetry is going from Nature,′ he cried. ’her lakes and marshes are drained, her seas banked up, her forests cut down. Everywhere we see the vulgarity of desolation spreading.
She asked if she could pray for her ‘new father’ – for the Italian!” “Did you let her?” “I got up without saying anything.” “You must have felt just as you did when I wanted to pray for the devil.” “He is the devil,” cried Harriet. “No, Harriet; he is too vulgar.
What does one want with dusty economic books, which have made the world no better,...
There are some chaps who are no good for anything but books; I plead guilty to being such a chap. – Cecil Vyse.
I wish that Cecil had not turned so cynical about women. He has, for the second time, quite altered. Why will men have theories about women? I haven’t any about men.
So dark was the afternoon that some of the lights had been turned on inside, and the great building suggested a tomb, miraculously illuminated by spirits of the dead.
He had stopped loving Maurice and should have to say so plainly.
Clive, did I hurt you?’ ‘No.’ ‘My darling, I didn’t mean to.’ ‘I’m all right.’ They looked at one another for a moment before beginning new lives. ‘What an ending,’ he sobbed, ’what an ending.
She doesn’t attract me,’ said Maurice pettishly. ‘Oh Mr Hall, what an ungallant remark. Look at her lovely hair.’ ‘I like short hair best.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because I can stroke it –.
I’m not ashamed. I don’t apologize. But it has frightened you, and you may not have noticed that I love you.
The Garden of Eden,” pursued Mr. Emerson, still descending, “which you place in the past, is really yet to come. We shall enter it when we no longer despise our bodies.