“«La morte è la madre della bellezza» disse Henry. «E cos'è la bellezza?» «Terrore.»”

“Death is the mother of beauty,” said Henry. “And what is beauty?” “Terror.”

“Non c’è niente che si sporca più della bellezza e di continuo la sporca chi la possiede e chi la incontra, per dimostrare che ne può disporre quanto e come vuole, o perché in fondo la bellezza non sa difenderla, perché è difficile.”

“I hate Gucci,' said Francis.'Do you?' said Henry, glancing up from his reverie. 'Really? I think it's rather grand.''Come on, Henry.''Well, it's so expensive, but it's so ugly too, isn't it? I think they make it ugly on purpose. And yet people buy it out of sheer perversity.''I don't see what you think is grand about that.''Anything is grand if it's done on a large enough scale,' said Henry.”

“Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.”

“But how,” said Charles, who was close to tears, “how can you possibly justify cold-blooded murder?’ Henry lit a cigarette. “I prefer to think of it,” he had said, “as redistribution of matter.”

“Once, over dinner, Henry was quite startled to learn from me than men had walked on the moon. “No,” he said, putting down his fork. “It’s true,” chorused the rest, who had somehow managed to pick this up along the way. “I don’t believe it.” “I saw it,” said Bunny. “It was on television.” “How did they get there? When did this happen?"”