“To rush into explanations is always a sign of weakness.”
“fiction is founded on truth... unless things did happen, people couldn't think of them.”
“In my opinion half the people who spend their lives avoiding being run over by buses had much better be run over and put safely out of the way. They're no good.”
“It's a rotten job, but somebody's got to do it.”
“It’s odd, isn’t it, why farce so often seems to get mixed up with tragedy?”
“What I think is a different matter. Maybe I think some rather curious things—but until thinking's got you somewhere it's no use talking about it.”
“But nothing will suit him now but the best! He's got on wonderfully, and naturally he wants something to show for it, but many's the time I wonder where it will end.”
“I often find these self-made men are inconsiderate. Very possibly that is why they amass such large fortunes.”
“Bundle frowned. This business of the clocks was curious. She must get hold of Bill Eversleigh. He had been there, she knew. To think was to act with Bundle. She got up and went over to the writing desk. It was an inlaid affair with a lid that rolled back. Bundle sat down at it, pulled a sheet of notepaper towards her and wrote. Dear Bill,—”
“Come and have a cocktail. It's nearly lunch time.”
“I don't like anyone who comes and dies in my house on purpose to annoy me," said Lord Caterham obstinately.”
“You don't have to die to go to hell.”
“He was afraid of touching his own wrist. He never attempted to sleep on his left side, even in those dismal hours of the night when the insomniac longs for a third side after trying the two he has.”
“A German philosopher once wrote that he who fights monsters must take care that he doesn't become one himself.”
“Who was your first kiss?” Heat rushed into my face. I flattered myself by thinking maybe he wanted to kiss me. I wished he wanted to kiss me. “I haven’t …” Squeezing my eyes closed, I began again. “I haven’t been kissed. Yet.” “Why?” I rolled my eyes at his innocence.
“You obviously know I’m not like other girls. I’m shy and I don’t spend time with boys. My father is strict and—” “That’s not why.” He thought he knew me so well.
“Fine. You tell me why I haven’t been kissed.”
I regretted the words and my tone instantly. What if he told me what I already knew? That I was lacking. Not interesting or pretty enough. “You were waiting.”
“My children know nothing of Christmas. They have so little, and want so little, it makes me feel guilty for the mindless materialism of our culture.”
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