“It's awful to be rich and mind-boggingly handsome and have women fawn over you. My heart bleeds for you. Poor dear, how do you manage?”

“If you are not feeling well, if you have not slept, chocolate will revive you. But you have no chocolate! I think of that again and again! My dear, how will you ever manage?”

“Dear little Bog-Face,Why are you so cold?And why do you lie with your eyes shut?--You are not very old.I am a Child of this WorldAnd a Child of Grace,And Mother, I shall be glad when it is over,I am Bog-Face.”

“Terror is the instinct that tells you to run, dear God, run, she murmured. Run for your life. But it just makes you into meat. Predators take the ones who run. Horror is the mind-thing, the worm of knowledge you can't stop turning over no matter how awful it is. It grows in your mind and destroys you by your own intelligence.”

“My dear boy, no woman is a genius. Women are a decorative sex. They never have anything to say, but they say it charmingly. Women represent the triumph of matter over mind, just as men represent the triumph of mind over morals.”

“how did you do it? How did you manage to remain unmangled?" "By holding on to just one rule." "Which?" "To place nothing-nothing-above the verdict of my own mind.”