“Miss Temple, perhaps you will demonstrate the proper curtsy for us?"Without ado, Cecily temple, She Who Can Do No Wrong, settles to the floor in a long, slow, graceful arc that seems to defy gravity. It is a thing of beauty. I am hideously jealous."Thank you, Miss Temple."Yes. Thank you, you little demon beast. May you marry a man who eats garlic with every meal.”

“No, instead it is the beastly Cecily Temple who answers me. Dead, dear Cecily, or as I affectionately refer to her in the privacy of my mind, She Who Inflicts Misery Simply by Breathing.”

“I don't agree with you in the least," said Temple— "about marriage, I mean. A man ought to want to get married—" "To anybody? Without its being anybody in particular?" "Yes," said Temple stoutly. "If he gets to thirty without wanting to marry any one in particular, he ought to look about till he finds some one he does want. It's the right and proper thing to marry and have kiddies.”

“Well, then, with Miss Temple you are good?""Yes, in a passive way: I make no effort; I follow as inclination guides me. There is no merit in such goodness.”

“I have met the devil, and her name is Cecily Temple”

“...I worship at the temple of your body and without you, I'd have no art...”