People who don't like scandals shouldn't be in finance.
Socialist writers are made of sterner stuff than those who only let their characters steeplechase through trouble in order to comeout first in the happy ending of moral uplift.
Humorists are always pessimists. They're reactionaries: because they see that every golden cloud has a black lining.
Pukka sahib or rank outsider--gentleman or bounder--and it's accent, accent, all the way.
And gold has no name, it licks the hand of anyone who has it: good dog!
A dominant race did not lie, because it had the whip.
Weak, tea-drinking, effeminate, ineffectual--masters of India, robbers of South Africa, bedevillers of all Europe.
All new money is made through the shifting of social classes and the dispossession of old classes.
Men never believe a woman can do anything.
The City is a machine miraculously organised for extracting gold from the seas, airs, clouds, from barren lands, holds of ships, mines, plantations, cottage hearth-stones, trees and rocks; and he, wretchedly waiting in the exterior halls, could not even get his finger on one tiny, tiny lever.
It's fine to be a great democrat when you've a slave to rub your boots on.
If equity and human natural reason were allowed there would be no law, there would be no lawyers.
Everyone likes the obscene; that is real life.
Strange is the influence of Marx on character.
Los Angeles is a Yukon for crime-story writers.
We are primitive men; we taboo what we desire and need. How did the denying of love come to be associated with the idea of morality.
Behind the concept of woman's strangeness is the idea that a woman may do anything: she is below society, not bound by its law, unpredictable; an attribute given to every member of the league of the unfortunate.
It was easy to see how upsetting it would be if women began to love freely where love came to them. An abyss would open in the principal shopping street of every town.
I never wanted to marry anyone like my father; I always preferred those more shoddy.
She was able to feel active creation going on around her in the rocks and hills, where the mystery of lust took place; and in herself, where all was yet only the night of senses and wild dreams, the work of passion going on.
Women are outside the law; they make nothing, they say yes or no to some collections of whereases.
I hate Bernard Shaw because he says that life is compromise.
There are so may ways to kills yourself, they're just old-fashioned with their permanganate: do you think I'd take permanganate? I wouldn't want to burn my insides out and live to tell the tale as well: idiots! It's simple, I'd drown myself... Why be in misery at the last?
Life is nothing but rags and tags and filthy rags at that.
All middle-class novels are about the trials of three, all upper-class novels about mass fornication, all revolutionary novels about a bad man turned good by a tractor.
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