The Strange Adventures of H

I recalled how cruel the plague had made people to each other, and was obliged to concede that there is no disaster which can befall humanity, that we will not fail to make worse by our own hands, for it is fear that makes us cruel.

I would check myself and wonder if I had already contracted the plague, as in such strange countries my thoughts rambled. But then I decided it was merely the times that made us strange , and we must cling to our sanity, and accept there were fewer and fewer touchstones against which to check or measure it. It often felt as though it was a daily battle merely to stop ourselves running mad.

A bawdy house is like a school,” chipped in Mrs Fotherington. “One child kills itself on a bit of bad meat and it takes years for it to recover its reputation. Ladies like ourselves cannot afford a bit of bad meat. For bad news has run a mile while truth is still putting his boots on.

there is no disaster which can befall humanity, that we will not fail to make worse by our own hands, for it is fear that makes us cruel.

It is pretty to observe how many a man willingly gives a woman money only to despise her for taking it.

Die a maid or marry to be poor if you want a quiet life. If you want a slice of the cake you must pay for it with your name. And what is a name good for after all? It neither puts bread in your mouth nor clothes on your back.

It was as if everyone in the whole world had departed, leaving me alone in it, and I thought this must be what Hell is like. Not hot and full of pain and confusion, but cool and grey and empty, where you are shut out of everywhere, yet cannot leave.