Life is not complex. We are complex. Life is simple, and the simple thing is the right thing.
Some suggestions for you :
Arguments are extremely vulgar, for everyone in good society holds exactly the same opinion.
Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions. How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the Church. But then in the Church they don't think. A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told to say when he was a boy of eighteen, and as a natural consequence he always looks absolutely delightful.
The waving of crooked, false-jeweled fingers gave grotesqueness to the words.
The people who love only once in their lives are really the shallow people. (...) Faithfulness is to the emotional life what consistency is to the life of the intellect - simply a confession of failures.
All good looks are a snare. They are a snare that every sensible man would like to be caught in.
Every day. I couldn't be happy if I didn't see him every day. He is absolutely necessary to me.
But then no artist expects grace from the vulgar mind, or style from the suburban intellect. Vulgarity and stupidity are two very vivid facts in modern life. One regrets them, naturally. But there they are.
Prosperity, pleasure and success, may be rough of grain and common in fibre, but sorrow is the most sensitive of all created things.
You let me play once in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is Paradise.
You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.
With an evening coat and a white tie, as you told me once, anybody, even a stock-broker, can gain a reputation for being civilized. Well, after I had been in the room about ten minutes, talking to huge overdressed dowagers and tedious academicians, I suddenly became conscious that some one was looking at me.
If one listens one may be convinced; and a man who allows himself to be convinced by an argument is a thoroughly unreasonable person.
I cannot repeat an emotion. No one can, except sentimentalists.
And yet I don't suppose that ten per cent of the proletariat live correctly.